


Heaven and Earth

by VendelynSilverhawk



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Liberal use of Tom Hiddleston's filmography, Meta, lokane - Freeform, old story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 12:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10245290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VendelynSilverhawk/pseuds/VendelynSilverhawk
Summary: In penance for his actions on Earth (and in general) the Norns sentence Loki to live lives on Earth, reborn over and over again in different lives until he changes. When that life finally comes, no one is prepared for the ramifications, especially when it involves a certain astrophysicist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a few years ago for Alydia Rackham's Thor 2 Lokane challenge. Re-posting here from ff.net, unedited, old, not sure why I'm doing this. Yes, William is poking fun at fandom concepts of how perfect Tom Hiddleston is. No, this isn't meant to be RPF, because that's creepy as hell.

Loki’s punishment for his crimes against Midgard was not, in the end, Odin’s decision, no matter how much the King of Asgard wanted to lock him beneath Yggdrasil for eternity. It was the Norns themselves who graced Valhalla’s golden halls to sentence him, for once they had decided to come no being in the universe could stop them.

               So when Loki was brought before Odin in chains, their biting conversation, their “little talk,” lasted but a moment before Odin sat back down on his throne, and gestured to a guard by the side entrance. “You are alive now only because of Frigga, and were it up to me you would rot in our dungeons for a thousand years.”

               A smirk remained plastered to Loki’s face; he would never show how much he hated this man, how much he loved him. Only Frigga new, if anyone, and now he would be denied her. If it had been up to Loki, Odin would have been dead at his feet. But fate- literally- seemed to have other plans.

               “We welcome the greatest of the Norns; Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld, to our hall,” Odin declared as a guard ushered in three women robed in green; the color of life, and decay.

Their bare feet made no sound as they passed before Odin’s throne to stand in front of Loki, who was shoved to his knees in their presence. Beneath each hood was a face that, on Midgard, would inspire many a great artist or poet, but here they were not things of beauty. The red string the last wove compulsively around her fingers kept all at bay, even Odin, who shifted back uncomfortably in his throne. Only Frigga and Loki did not react to their presence.

The first Norn, Skuld, whose red hair curled and flowed like fire around her face, spoke in a voice like the winter wind rattling through bones.

“We have seen your fate in the stars, and blood of the earth, and it is not to suffer your father’s wrath.”

“He is not my father,” Loki spat. Grungir slammed on stone, Odin’s eyes silencing Loki from his throne.

“Show respect to those who hold your life in their hands!” he barked, inspiring another derisive snort from Loki.

“I am not your son, so why age yourself over my manners, _Allfather?_ ”

“That is enough, Laufeyson.” At the end of the row, Verdandi stopped wrapping the red string. It hung still as she regarded Loki with eyes as white as crystals shining in a black cave. “We come here to sentence you, not to hear your petty quarrels.”

“Then sentence me!” he snapped, surging forward until he was forcibly driven back to his knees, chains clanging. He did not notice how Frigga’s jaw clamped at the guards’ rough treatment.

“In due time, Laufeyson. First, a prologue to your punishment,” Verdandi cackled.

And then it was the last, the middle sister’s turn. Stepping forward, she reached one hand the color of burnished leather to brush against his jaw, fingertips settling below his chin, ensuring that he met her eyes. He recoiled as if stung, but the guards’ strong hands kept him in place.

“Loki…” Urd sighed mournfully, tears welling in her eyes. “Ah, Loki, who once burned so bright, He Who Would Be King… how far you have fallen.”

Loki didn’t meet her eyes.

“Magician, son, brother, Jotunn, Aesir, scholar, artist, architect, beloved; so many titles for one being. You were better before you tried adding ‘king’ to that list.”

“Do you have a point, _witch,_ or will you name me to my death?” If anything, his comment only made Urd sadder.

“Fate has smiled on you, Loki; we have loved you. Now you are cast out of our favor as well, and will suffer for the lives you dared took on Midgard. Skuld, weave him his fate.” When her touch was withdrawn, it was like a cloud passing before the sun, and a shadow seemed to fall more heavily on Loki’s features. Urd turned and clasped hands with Verdandi as Skuld took the red string from her sister and threw it across the floor where it spilled like entrails.

“The lives of your people are long in years, and slow in wisdom. You have squandered this gift of longevity, abused your powers granted by birth, and destroyed the lives of too many to forgive with merely a dungeon cell. Loki Laufeyson, child of Odin Allfather and Frigga, our punishment is thus.” With a wave of her hand Skuld jerked the string into the air, where it twisted in and around itself until it formed a small, ornate web somewhere between a nest and a box.  

With lightning speed and before Loki could jerk away, Skuld’s hands were clasping the sides of his face, fingers spread out like probing spiders as she cocked her head and regarded his regal expression.

“To re-live the lives of the Midgardians you killed would destroy you, something we cannot do as long as we love our sister, but you must learn what true suffering is, what it is like to fear death; and experience it. You must also understand life and the value it holds within the fabric of the universe. Both to punish, and to teach, we sentence your soul to life on Midgard, where it will manifest itself in however many lives, for however many years and however many centuries, it takes for you to understand. Your body shall remain here, entombed, as you serve your sentence.” Odin’s face was expressionless, but a small cry let loose from Frigga’s lips when she heard the punishment. Before she could do anything, and Loki could do more than cast her one last, pleading glance, Skuld had inhaled so deeply that it ripped his soul from his body.

Immediately his physical form collapsed as if in a coma, pale skin slowly turning blue and covering itself with Jotunn markings as his body, without a magician’s soul to sustain the glamour, reverted to its true form. Meanwhile, Skuld tucked his soul- Frigga could only see a faint, ruffling something within  the Norn’s clasped hands, and could have sworn she heart chirping- within the red-string net.

“This is cruel, even for you three,” Frigga murmured, daring to meet Urd’s eyes. The Norn, seer of the past, was openly weeping, while Verdandi beside her looked furious, and Skuld’s face was positively serene.

“It is what is best for him,” Urd replied. “We have seen it.”

“And have you also seen how long it will keep him from his family?” Frigga snapped, ignoring Odin’s look.

“However long it takes, Asgardian Queen!” Verdandi hissed, eyes pale and peering, unnerving.

Then Frigga noticed Skuld holding the box containing Loki’s soul close to her lips, murmuring softly, almost lovingly, before throwing it into the air, where it disappeared. It was as if a light had gone out in the world; Frigga could feel the room go cold, and looked at her son’s empty body. It was good that he could not see himself; he would have been horrified by how weak, how different he looked. It was all she could do not to let her wrath fall upon the Norns, but they were too powerful, and wise even beyond her. She had to trust them, and hope, and yell at Odin later for not telling her that they were coming.

“It is done,” Skuld whispered joyfully. “His soul has begun its journey on Midgard; watch carefully, queen, for each life may be his last. There is no telling now when, or if, he will return.”

“Where have you taken him?” Frigga demanded, striding forward. “Where is my son?”

“In Midgard’s past, waiting.”

“Your gatekeeper can see him even now, queen. Go to Heimdall, and you may watch your son,” Urd offered.

With one last threatening look at the sisters, and one of poison at Odin, promising him hell later, Frigga whirled and vanished from the hall, dress trailing behind her out the door as she called for the guards to summon Heimdall.

In the hall Odin watched the three Norns carefully as they lay out Loki’s body, hands on his chest, hair brushed from his blue face. His heart was a tumult of emotions, but there was one that he could sense as clearly as a spear in his side; r _egret._

“Allfather.” The soft voice brought him out of himself, and Odin looked down to see the tearful Norn, Urd, looking up at him. “My sisters and I shall take his body to the vaults of your ancestors; there the magic will preserve him, and we shall work our craft to prepare him for regaining his soul.”

Odin nodded, and the sisters vanished from the hall, along with his son’s body. Remembering Frigga’s look at him before she left, Odin sighed; _what have I just done?_


	2. Chapter 2

Starlight glittered in the pond water, reflecting all the constellations Loki had so loved to study. A bitter smile twisted Frigga’s lips at the memories that coursed through her; a hundred years of her little boy spending sleepless nights in the Astronomy Tower, scouring the royal library for books on the stars, studying their effect on magic and getting into heated debates with all of his instructors about their relevancy to his studies. When he was older he had made the tower his own private place, and there had written books of his own documenting the night sky of various realms.

               The sound of ancient pages scraping against one another as they turned was soothing to Frigga, as she looked at each carefully rendered drawing of different constellations of Asgard. He had such a tome for each of the nine realms but Jotunnheim and Midgard. She wondered if he had admired the stars during his destruction on Earth, or if he was too far gone to ever remember such a simple pleasure.

               “You summoned me, my queen,” a deep, sonorous voice spoke behind her. Looking up to see Heimdall, for once without his horned helmet and sword, standing in the entrance to the private garden Frigga allowed the book to flip closed in her hands.

               “Yes. You saw Loki’s trial.” It was not a question. Heimdall had been watching Loki since he landed on earth; reporting to the queen was not uncommon these days.

               “Indeed I did.”

               “Can you see him now?” She did not need to hide the small tremor in her voice; Heimdall had probably already seen her crying during his hourly sweep of the kingdom.

               Heimdall’s golden eyes glazed over, looking far beyond her and the garden. “He is in the vaults, my queen, resting beside the tomb of his grandfather.”

               “You know what I really meant, Heimdall. _Can you see him on Midgard_?” Hands clasped, knuckles white, Frigga found it hard to breathe as Heimdall searched the heavens again.

               Abruptly her thoughts went to Thor, fighting on Alfheim to quell the rebel factions that rose in Odin’s absence. She feared for him always, but knew that he was strong enough to come home to her safely. In any case, she did not doubt the determination of his companions to get him home safely should anything happen.

               _Wounds will be nothing to the pain he feels when he learns of Loki’s fate._ She thought mournfully. Thor would not take the news well; when he went to find Loki on Midgard he had been determined that his brother was still good, and even after New York, Frigga new that no matter what Thor said he still loved his brother enough to hope, even minutely.

               When Heimdall spoke she instantly focused on his glowing golden eyes, as if she could see Loki in them.

               “I can see his soul traveling through earth’s history, manifesting itself as a human…”

               “Who? Can you show me?” Frigga demanded.

               “Take my hand.” Not hesitating, Frigga set her fingers atop his hand and was instantly pulled into his vision, into Earth’s history as it was being written- written by the glowing blue soul that manifested itself as the wailing infant in the arms of another woman. A woman who wasn’t _her._

“16 September 1386, Monmouth Castle, the birth of the mortal ruler Henry V of England,” Heimdall narrated as they watched the child wrapped in cloth and handed to his mother. A pang of jealousy shot through Frigga as she watched.

               “How is this possible? These are events hundreds of years old.”

               “But they are Loki’s present. I suspect that time shall pass for us here, but by the time his soul reaches Midgard’s modern age, no time will have passed at all for Earth. We are merely seeing how his soul shapes their history,” the gatekeeper rumbled.

               Frigga removed her hand and at once the vision of the happy family vanished, replaced by her garden and the starlight. She felt drained, emotionally and physically, and melted back down onto her divan, hands straying unconsciously to pull Loki’s book to her chest.

               “Watch him for me, Heimdall, and warn me at the dawn and sunset of each life,” she commanded grimly.

               “Of course, my queen.”

               “Thank you,” she sighed. “You may return to your watch.”

               “Sleep well, my queen.” Bowing, the gatekeeper left the garden.

               Frigga fell asleep on the divan some hours later, Loki’s book slipping from her fingers onto the grass open on the page for the constellation Yggasdril, so named for its resemblance to the path of the World Tree through the cosmos.

*

Warm sunlight filtered down onto the dew-covered garden, emerald blades of grass stretching up around the book covered in small orbs of water that reflected rainbows through their centers. A pale hand brushed against its pages, having fallen from the divan in the night. Frigga’s long red hair streamed out behind her, wisping gently in the wind, and her face with one hand tucked under was the most serene Odin had seen it in days.

               Here in her secluded private garden there had been no need to send guards to watch her while she slept, but Odin shared her insomnia after the day’s troubling evens, no matter how little he cared for Loki. He still cared about the little boy who used to test his patience, the son that tried so hard to please him, to guide Thor, to make the court laugh. Perhaps the Norns’ punishment could bring that boy back, out of the twisted ruin of Loki’s mind.

               “ _Go_ ,” Frigga sighed from the divan. When Odin turned, her eyes were still closed, but her fallen hand had curled around the side of the book and brought it back up to press against her chest, ignoring the dew that wet the front of her dress. 

               “Frigga-”

               “Until you are ready to forgive our son, you are not welcome near me.” This time she opened her eyes and looked up at him, their depthless green hard as stone. She had never looked so angry with him in all the millennia they had been married; never had she denied him her presence before.

               “He is no longer our son; he is a murderer.”

               “He is what we made him, regrettably. What happened on Midgard is as much our fault as his. How many times have you forgiven Thor his trespasses without question?”

               Odin could not answer this, so he merely nodded to his wife and left the garden, the visit having gone very differently from what he planned. When he looked back through the archway he saw Frigga stretching and braiding her hair, book in her lap, and heard her humming a tune he hadn’t heard in a long time; the song she used to sing to Loki when he couldn’t sleep.

               Swallowing hard, Odin left his wife and made his way to the Bifrost.

*

“Where is Thor now?” he asked the gatekeeper, up on his golden pedestal.

               “Preparing to leave Alfheim, my king. The resistance was ended easily once he arrived. He is now giving Hogunn leave from his duties, to aid in rebuilding his world.” Heimdall’s golden eyes were fixed upon the vastness of the stars, seeing too many things for Odin to comprehend.

               “That is good; he will be missing his family after so long away.”

               Silence, heavy with words unsaid.

“Thor is not the only one you seek.”

               “No… can you see him?” Odin turned away from the Gatekeeper, looking back on his realm and pondering, quietly.

               “Yes. Time goes quickly for him in the form of the mortal princeling. I suspect that by tonight a new life will have begun.” Odin was sure the gatekeeper noted his surprise- Loki, reborn a prince. Fate was cruel indeed.

               “Tell me about him.”

               “He is rowdy, and riotous in his present youth, not unlike Thor. But dissention festers between him and his father, and his path to the crown of will be difficult.” Heimdall’s golden eyes slanted to look at Odin, who stood with head bowed, eye closed.

               “You have seen this history before.” It was not a question.

               “Of course, my king. It is but a blink in Midgard’s history, however; I did not note it before, as I was not aware that this ‘Prince Hal’ is Loki.”

               “He has served this sentence before, throughout time, and it is only now that we see the beginning,” Odin murmured, rethinking his initial perception of the Norns’ punishment. Although it may a few days for them, at the rate history on Midgard was flowing, for Loki it would be centuries of extra lives weighted upon his soul, up until Midgard’s present age. The flow of time was strange, and now it had been twisted into a knot that would only be straightened once Loki’s punishment was served.

               “The queen has commanded me to watch him and report to her with each life. Shall I do the same for you?”

               “No.”

               Each stood in silence, thinking, reflecting, until Heimdall’s sword _schink_ ed down into the center of the pedestal and the Bifrost observatory began to spin.

               “Thor, Sif, and The Warriors Three return,” the words were barely out before said warriors appeared before Odin, all covered in dirt and blood but unharmed, save a few cuts and bruises.

               At the sight of his father Thor grinned and walked forward, still alight with battle lust.

               “Father! The last of the Alfheim rebellions have been crushed. Forgive me, but I gave Hogunn permission to stay behind with his family. I believed he earned it, after all we have been through recently,” he proclaimed, but the smile fell from his face at Odin’s expression. Behind him Fandral and Volstagg excused themselves, promising to see Thor at the palace for the victory celebration. Sif stayed behind, sword in hand as if she could physically fight away the emotional tension in the room.

               “Loki was sentenced today,” Odin said. Thor’s expression immediately crumbled, somewhere between rage and hopeless longing. Mioljnir hung limply in his hand.

               “Why did you not wait for me? You knew I wanted to be there!” Thor accused, stepping closer threateningly, but Odin didn’t blink.

               “It was out of my control; the Norns took Loki’s life into their own hands.” At this all the color drained from Thor’s face, rendering him almost as pale as Loki beneath his mask of blood and mud. A heartbeat later he strode past Odin rigidly.

               “Where he is? What have they done to him?” he demanded as he forced the party to continue the angry conversation while crossing the bridge into Asgard.

               “He was sentenced to be reborn on Midgard, in as many lives as the Norns deemed necessary to change his ways.” Even Sif had the decency to look horrified at this, which quickly turned into concern for Thor.

               This seemed to take the fight out of Thor and he stopped walking, breathing hard, considering.

               “Perhaps…” he said quietly, so low that Sif strained to hear, “Perhaps it will change him as it changed me. Maybe it is for the best…” But for all his words about having given up on Loki, he still looked heartbroken at the loss.

               “Come, Thor,” Sif said gently, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Let us not dwell on this so soon after our victory. Now is a time to feast, and drink, and celebrate.”

               “She is right, Thor; go be with your comrades,” Odin commanded. Thor looked as if he wanted to protest, but at last relented and he and Sif continued down the bridge, afternoon light casting a halo of gold around their retreating silhouettes. 

*

Frigga watched Thor feast and drink that night with his comrades as she passed through the streets, but noticed his distinct lack of enthusiasm. She suspected that Odin had told him of Loki’s fate, and it pained her to see him to enshadowed, even with friends and warmth surrounding him.

               Leaves skittered in the wind that rustled her gown, urging her past the public feasting area that held her son and on to her destination; the astronomy tower, on the edge of the palace’s territory. She had just come from Heimdall, asking again about Loki, and the sun setting around her sent a small shiver up her spine.

               _“He nears the end of this life. By the time the stars are out, his soul will have moved on.” Heimdall intoned gravely._

_“So soon? It has been but twenty-four hours!”_

_“On Midgard, thirty years have passed for him.”_

_“Too soon to die, regardless.” She paced around the observatory in agitation, imagining her son about to go through Helheim’s gates. His soul would return, of course, but daring the journey even once was all any mortal soul was supposed to go through; it would surely drive him mad._

_“Shall I tell you the end of his story now?” the Gatekeeper asked, looking at his queen with sympathetic amber eyes._

_“Yes.”_

_“His father shall die after years of bad blood between them, and Henry will take the throne only to be forced into a long and grueling war. He shall marry a French princess named Catherine, and they will be happy for a time. Then, before his 37 th birthday, he will die on the front.” _

_“A wife?” Frigga repeated, curiosity and confusion clouding her features. “They are truly happy?”_

_“You may see, if you like.” Heimdall reached down his hand, and Frigga merely placed her fingertips to his skin to catch a glimpse of the wedding. The woman, this Catherine, had long brown hair that shone in the church light and a delicate face. Across from her stood Loki, only with hair like gold and a smile on his face. It was strange, knowing that this mortal was her son, and yet not. Knowing that he would die soon, and pass on._

_When she pulled away she realized how empty she felt inside, how deeply she felt the lost potential of Loki before he turned to darkness. She and Odin had argued many times over the possibility of Loki marrying, due to his true heritage, and had even spoken to one young woman willing to marry the sharp-tongued prince. But after Loki’s treason her family had refused the match, and all hope had died. He would not attain such happiness as his mortal lives, and for the first time Frigga began to realize the harsh wisdom of the Norns’ choice of punishment._

When she reached the astronomy tower she climbed all the way to the top, entering into his private study. The walls were lined with bookshelves, his desk in one corner still littered with pens and bits of balled-up parchment. The large telescope that stretched out the window was pointed to Earth, and when Frigga glanced through its lens she could see the night sky of Midgard and all its constellations. How Loki had managed it she couldn’t guess; his magic had surpassed hers many years ago.

               Gently, she put the book of constellations back onto his shelf in its proper place, and slipped out the door with a final, lingering look at the dusty, enshadowed room.

For an instant Loki was before her, sitting at his desk working feverishly, raven-feather quill scratching across the parchment as he scrawled out a new spell. When he looked up his hand was stained with ink, and his eyes were tired, but he was grinning from ear to ear. His face was many years younger- he was still a boy, really, and so proud…

Then Frigga blinked, and the apparition was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

When Thor woke his head was pounding, and his sight was too fuzzy for him to see where he was, his brain too scattered to know _when_ he was. For the first minute or so he merely lay and waited to return to himself.

               By the time he blinked and his vision sharpened the sun was streaming through the windows, illuminating his cape draped over the back of a chair and the covers strewn on the floor. Thor himself could finally feel the plush bed beneath him, the when he sat up noticed that he had apparently had the sense to change into a pair of loose white pants before passing out the night before.

               It had been ages since he had feasted like that, but in the wake of learning Loki’s fate, Sif’s hand warm on his shoulder, it had seemed too painful to continue on in coherence. Someone must have helped him back to the palace, however, judging from how little he remembered of the night before.

               _Someone with gentle hands, who chastised him gently but didn’t hesitate to laugh…_

Getting up and striding over to the wardrobe, Thor shook off the blurry images and sensations from the night before, which were too mingled with wine and torchlight for him to understand. It was probably some maiden, or even a servant sent to ensure his safe return; oddly enough, these uncertainties unsettled him. For the entirety of his youth he had not worried over the identities of whichever woman he entertained during the festivities, when good company and warm hands around his neck were all he needed to throw off the heaviness of battle.

               Now, though… his attitude towards such anonymity in companions had changed, and as he looked out upon his kingdom it was not hard to know why.

               _Jane._

A knock on the door of his chambers dissolved his vision of Jane’s glowing face, surrounded by her auburn hair like a halo. Turning from the window Thor plunged his hands into the bowl of fresh water waiting on his nightstand, and began to mindlessly wash away the invisible sweat and grime of Alfheim’s battle and last night’s feastings.

               “Enter!” His door swung open to reveal a servant, dressed in the golden habit of the palace, carrying a pair of polished gauntlets. To his credit the servant’s face remained practically expressionless in the face of his half-naked prince standing in the middle of a room that looked like a tornado had come through. The maids would have _so_ much fun cleaning later…

               “With apologies from Lady Sif, she bade me return them to you, as you… forgot them, at the celebrations last night.” Bowing, the servant presented the pieces of armor to Thor and waited while he took them gently, disbelievingly.

               “I-I thank you for returning them, and send her my thanks also,” Thor stammered. The servant left.

               As he dressed Thor’s eyes continually strayed to the greaves sitting on his bedside table by the washbasin, the sun making their clean surfaces glow. Had the servants polished them before returning them to him? Or had Sif… no, that was an impossible thought. Sif cared for her own armor like it was an extension of herself- as all good warriors should- but had made it know from the beginning, much to the court’s amusement, that her loyalty to the Prince of Asgard did not extend to looking after his things. Her sword he had unquestionably; in the rest she was proud, unyielding, and for that he admired her.

               He would later send his compliments to the head of the armory, for having them cleaned before they were given back to him.

*

The sun glinted off the golden exterior of the palace, which rose like an organ in the middle of Asgard’s greatest city. Whistling through its open tower windows, sending ripples across the ponds and rivers that looped under its great shadow, the laughing wind streaked through its massive gates and down into the city, level after level until, at the bottom tier, it dared to play with the golden hair of a certain prince.

                Said prince was out of his fine palatial cloths and covered only by a thin practice tunic and long pants, now drenched in sweat. He and Volstagg sparred in a merry battle of long spears and tumbles in the dirt of the practice field, as a small crowd of armorers and warriors looked on and laughed with each blow.

               Admiring the way the wind ruffled her son’s hair- too long, but he would not let her near it- Frigga, for a moment, allowed the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze to carry her to a happier time. Yet daydreams are not the realm of a queen, and too soon she had to set her mind to tasks she would have rather set aside until after her family was whole. Some things could not bear to wait.

               “It is not often you come to watch the warriors,” a voice, burdened by too many millennia of rule, spoke from behind her. Out from beneath the palace’s structure Odin strode, coming to stand next to her on the elevated platform overlooking the training field.

               To their left the river bubbled as it wound through the various levels of the city, whose bridges and fields and different levels made it a delightful conundrum of architecture. Frigga’s hand brushed absently against the weathered stone railing, and felt the hum of the ancient magic of Asgard deep in her bones. It sang to her, as it sang for Loki when she first taught him how to harness his magical potential. Perhaps it sang to him even now, a never-ending song strung throughout Midgard’s history, calling him home…

               “It is not often the future of our kingdom is threatened by the lives of two men, but lately it has been so,” she intoned, glancing at her husband. He, too, watched Thor, eyes following his every movement, glimmering with pride.

               “I see. Thor has not been himself lately; he still grieves for his mortal, like a child for a lost toy.”

               Frigga’s gaze sharpened when she saw something other than pride in Odin’s eyes. Perhaps…

               “It is not only Jane he longs for,” she probed, and Odin’s hand gripped the stone rail right next to hers.

               “No. With Loki gone, it has been difficult, no matter how he protests.” Odin met Frigga’s gaze.

               “He needs strength and support, not only from us and his warriors, but in other aspects of his life. Your last Odinsleep…” swallowing, Frigga could not bring herself to finish the sentence. His last Odinsleep had been in the wake of devastating events, leaving the kingdom with only one prince to rule, a prince whose potential had been destroyed by the very people who claimed to love him.

               “It was too sudden, and too short. Frigga, you have never hesitated to point out my flaws before.” He looked at her squarely, brow furrowed ever so slightly, hand on the railing tightening.

               “Thor is strong, but he must rule by his head as well as his heart, and for that he cannot take the throne alone,” she confided, knowing for once that she and her husband were matched in thoughts, if not approaches to solving the situation they found themselves in.

               “It is time for him to assume his birthright; time for him to choose a companion to share it with.”

               “Yes, yet a mortal cannot reign in Asgard. He knows this, but will not admit it.” Shivering in the wind, Frigga reached out and took Odin’s hand, which his fingers encircled and kept warm. Leading and protecting a kingdom were jobs that required one to sacrifice everything in service of their people’s wellbeing, but Frigga knew her sons; knew that Loki was too volatile to be king, that Thor did not have the heart. Odin could not rule indefinitely, however; it was past time for Thor to become king, and the only way he would be able to do that was with a strong person at his side. Once, that person would have been Loki, to guide, counsel, and temper Thor’s warmongering, yet in the present situation they lacked any to be advisor to the king in such an effective capacity.

               A queen, then. Of Asgard, not Midgard, and that was why Frigga’s heart went cold.

               “He will have to,” Odin warned.

               “I know, but I did not ask you here to fight. Merely to ask that you not pressure him,” Frigga held up a hand at Odin’s expression, silencing him. “The Nine Realms must see that Thor is ready, and that his rule will be strong and supported by his people wholeheartedly. If he is pressured into marriage, it will show; can you imagine the ramifications if we had not loved each other on our wedding night?”

               Odin’s rueful smile was enough of a response for her to continue.

               “Counsel him, but let him mourn, let him hope, let him discover what Asgard has to offer him. Delicacy in all matters of the heart is essential; a lesson some people have yet to learn.”

               Bearing the criticism, Odin turned so that his back was to Thor, and he was looking up at the palace.

               “All lessons take time, especially ones so deeply rooted against previous beliefs. Patience will be needed, always,” he said gently.

               Expression a mixture of apprehension and hope, she put a hand inside the folds of her dress and pulled out a scroll.

               “Sometimes a show of faith is necessary for patience to be given.” She held it out to him, but elaborated before he reached for it. “I am having Heimdall dictate to a scribe all of Loki’s lives on Midgard. He passed from this one not an hour ago.”

               Odin took it without hesitation.

               “So soon?”

               “He passed on before reaching manhood, of a plague that swept across Midgard’s lands.” Her tears, when reading it, had had to be wiped away before they fell and caused the ink to run. It was such a short, terrible life, to be gone so soon, but by the time the next scroll came she would know whether or not his fortunes had improved.

               “I shall give it to Thor when I have finished with it.”

*

“Excuse me, but could you tell me where I could find Prince Thor?” Sif asked a passing servant, hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. At the question the servant frowned, the dour expression looking out of place on her warm, heart-shaped face.

               “He has retreated to the crypts, my lady, and requested that none disturb him.” Clearly this girl was worried for him, and Sif’s unease grew. Thanking the servant, she passed through the grand palace halls and made for the crypts.

               Floors beneath the palace, even deeper than the dungeons, lay the tombs of every royal family member since the dawn of the Nine Realms. Despite the Asgardian custom of burning the bodies of the dead and releasing their spirits to the stars, stone likenesses of every king, queen, and royal child were carved and kept in endless rows beneath the city, like a maze of the dead. Why Thor would go there, after a seeming normal morning of practice, was beyond Sif, but he had left the training field with an unquiet look on his face and not returned for hours.

               Many of the people who passed her, both servants and courtiers alike, smiled and greeted her warmly, despite the fact that she was traipsing through the palace still in her sweaty, dirt-encrusted practice cloths from that morning. Jaw clenching, she continued onward until she reached the broad archway hidden in an obscure alcove of the palace, from which cold air and the smell of grief- empty, and stifling- wafted.

               And she waited, because Thor did not want to be disturbed, because if nothing she would always respect his wishes, because she had heard him compliment a confused armorer on the beauty of his newly-polished gauntlets, because Frigga had given her an odd look before leaving her spot above the training fields.

               Because lately nothing was as it seemed, and ever since she had helped Thor home from the revelries after their victory on Alfheim, learned of Loki’s sentence, change had very obviously been on everyone’s mind.

*

Tears soaked Loki’s pale blue brow, decorated with the winding marks of Jotunn royalty, and dripped onto the stone floor of the royal crypts. Thor’s wracking sobs as he held his brother’s frightfully cold hand- not the hand of a Jotunn, but the hand of his brother- echoed through the low, winding stone chamber and surely carried through the entirety of the maze filled with likenesses of the dead. Loki himself lay on an empty pedestal between Odin’s father, King Bor, and their brother Baldur, who in life had shone like the sun, and didn’t belong in such a dark place.

               But that was a tale for another time, when there was not already too much sadness poured over the lifeless statues.

               “Loki…” Thor gasped, looking at his brother’s face through the black gauze that had been draped over his body, as though he was newly dead and in preparation for his own funeral. Beneath the fabric Thor’s thumb moved in a gentle rhythm over his brother’s icy skin, both an attempt to comfort him, and maybe reach Loki, wherever he was now.

               _Dead before the age of seventeen, he spent only a year with his young bride before dying of an ailment then unknown to Midgardian physicians…_

Thor had read the scroll at least a dozen times after his father had called him from the training field and delivered it to him. Afterwards he had attempted to go back to training, but the fight was gone from him and he could endure no more than a few swings before he felt as though he would shatter with another blow from Fandral’s rapier.

               _Loki…._ “Brother… I know not if you can hear me, but if you can…” he choked on his words for a moment, unable to stop the memories of Loki turning his weapons into flowers when he was trying to impress his friends, using dopplegangers to help him cause mischief whenever they wanted to sneak out after their bedtime, fighting at his side like a shadow during every mission because there was no way Thor was going into a warzone without Loki at his side.

               Even when Loki cut off Sif’s hair, killed Baldur, and evolved his magic from harmless pranks to make people laugh to things that bordered on dangerous, he was still Thor’s brother. Hundreds of years of Thor _and_ Loki, and now here Thor was, alone, knowing that despite everything he would still rather have Loki back by his side than anything in the Nine Realms.

               “If you can,” he gasped, warm hand lightening around Loki’s blue fingers, “Know that you are missed, and forgiven. Always… always know that.”

               Unable to say more, Thor put his head in his hands and allowed the tears to flow freely, here where no one could see or hear him but the cold eyes of the dead, who surely did not approve of the lion of Asgard sobbing over a murderer, a _Jotunn_ cuckold. Thor’s _brother._

Loki’s face was serene beneath his death shroud, hands clasped over his chest like a corpse on its pyre, about to be launched into the stars. Did he hear, did he feel? Or was he now just an empty body, kept alive by the witchcraft of the Norns until his soul returned?

               The thought caused anger to surge through Thor’s veins until the compulsion to destroy something was almost overwhelming, yet here there was no option but to desecrate the dead. Baldur’s blank stone eyes, as if sensing Thor’s thoughts, seemed to glare.

               “Control your anger, Son of Odin, lest you disgrace the spirits of your ancestors,” a soft voice, filled with tears and echoes and screams of longing that surely echoed throughout all of creation itself, sounded behind him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to prick up.

               Whirling around, Mioljnir in his hand, Thor was stunned to see a green-cloaked figure standing behind him. She could not have come from above- Thor was facing the doorway- but if she came from behind in the tunnel there was no way he wouldn’t have heard her.

               “Name yourself!” he demanded, positioning himself subconsciously to protect Loki.

               “I am past-seer, life-weaver, sentencer of princes, One of the Three,” the woman replied as she lowered her hood, revealing a tawny angel’s face surrounded by polished auburn hair, set with two eyes that glowed like molten gold. This creature was not of Asgard, Thor could feel that in his bones, in the way she stared at him with tears the color of night dripping freely down her cheeks and an expression that did not match the waterworks.

               “You mean one of the witches that cursed my brother,” Thor snarled. “How dare you show your face here.”

               “One of those who _loved_ your brother. How do you think he learned so many of his magic tricks? _Frigga_? She is powerful, but not enough to have taught him all he holds in his arsenal.” The Norn, for Thor now recognized her from when he was a boy and the three sorceresses who guarded the knowledge of Time and Fate had visited to mourn the death of Baldur, crossed her arms, looking at him evenly, though the black tears continued to streak her face.

               “I am Urd.”

               “Then state your business, _Urd,_ before I alert the guards,” Thor glowered. He should have been afraid, but he was too angry for anything even resembling common sense.

               “I have come to pay my respects for Loki, and guide him into his next life; his soul is stuck in Helheim and has not emerged for several Midgardian years.” Her words struck a chord of ice within Thor’s heart, and reluctantly he allowed her to pass him and rest both hands on Loki’s face.

               She closed her eyes and allowed a few of her black tears to fall upon his blue skin, passing through the burial shroud like it was air.

               “Love, it’s time for you to move on,” she sang softly, and kissed his forehead. Loki’s body gave a jerk as if struck by lightning.

               “What did you do to him?” Thor demanded, staring intently at Loki’s face, which was just as blank as ever.

               “Pointed him in the right direction,” Urd said, removing her hands and stepping away. As she moved, the shadows seemed to creep in on her form, and her molten gold eyes burned into Thor like fire.

               “I can see into your heart, Prince- it seems as though you are in need of guidance, as well,” sighing, a sardonic smile passed over her grief-stricken face. “Pointing him in the right direction” seemed to have drained her severely; her face was ashen.

               “Never has the House of Odin been so confused before; your threads are knotting up the fabric of the universe because none of you can judge your own hearts.” Smile turning to a scowl, Urd reached out a hand and the shadows crawled into it like a foul mist, writhing until they formed a slim, vaguely familiar figure.

               Black hair wafted from the delicately shaped head of the feminine form, which turned gently in Urd’s hand to some invisible music only she seemed to hear.

               “Who do you see?” she demanded of him, holding out the figure. Bewildered, Thor couldn’t say.

               “A woman.”

               “How perceptive of you. Yes, it is a woman; the most important woman in your life, Prince. She will determine the fate of Asgard, and right now you are separated by a chasm that only you may bridge.” Thor jumped when her hand crushed the figure back into mist, a surprisingly violent motion. “Tell no one that you have seen me, or that I have told you this.”

*

When Thor finally emerged from the crypts, Sif had been waiting for over an hour, standing at attention to the side of the archway and passing the time by watching the hustle and bustle of the palace in the afternoon.

               The sight of his burly body coming up the stairs made her heart leap into her throat, but the brief flooding of emotion at his presence died when she saw his face. As soon as their eyes met he wiped his expression away, replacing it by an even smile, but she had seen.

               She had seen the look of a haunted man, such a look as hadn’t been shown since word of the invasion of Midgard had reached Asgard.

               “Lady Sif, I hope you have not been waiting long,” Thor said, voice masked uncharacteristically.

               “Not at all,” she lied, taking in the fact that he was still in his sparring cloths from that morning. “I was going to ask if you would spar with me, since you ran away so quickly this morning, but clearly it will have to be another time; you look like a breeze could knock you down.”

               “Attentive, as always, Sif.” This time the smile was genuine, if tired. “I have had my share of battle today, even jesting ones.”

               “Surely this isn’t the Thor I know, claiming to be weary of war?” Sif joked, eyebrows raised.

               “Weary of everything lately, it seems.” But then his gaze strayed out one of the nearby, vaulted windows, and his eyes light up with some stray inspiration. “But an exception could be made, if you would join me for a ride in the fields?”

               Sif had to hide her shock and delight behind a mask of polite agreement as she followed Thor out of the shadow of the gloomy crypt and into the light-filled halls, towards the stables.

*

Having seen the exchange between her son and the shield-maiden on her way to the library, Frigga smiled secretly, for a moment buoyed by her son’s happiness with his companion. The scroll in her hand, the first few years of Loki’s current life- he had not appeared for a few hours, and until the scribe had come with it she had feared the worst- cast a shadow over her, however. How long would it be until happiness could reign unchecked again in their lives, unhindered by doubt and fear and sadness?


	4. Chapter 4

Black ink swirled across the page, pouring from the tip of the furling feather pen as if to stain every inch of the parchment. Waltzing from word to word, bestowing meaning to the once-black tome, the pen in Frigga’s hand formed word after word copied painstakingly from the piles of parchment next to her. She was painting, dancing, imagining, singing the words onto the page one stroke at a time and with each new word more magic was sewn into the parchment until eventually it was as well-preserved as all of the other books within the palace’s grand library. This one was special, though, warded by the queen’s own magic, written by the queen’s hand, it would last millennia longer and the ink would not even begin to fade.

               Sheet by sheet the stack beside her on the desk got shorter, until there was nothing there and almost six hundred pages were filled with narratives from Midgard’s history. From her son’s history. For hours of the nostalgic work Frigga had not moved but to wave her hand and magic the scribe’s accounts down to the recycling chamber, where the essence of the ink and parchment would be reused by the magicians.  Even when her pen clattered gently against the polished wood of her desk she could not rip herself from the memories which had haunted her since she started her task.

               _“Mother!” Loki wailed as he came careening down the hall towards her, a look of pure panic on his face when he heard the crash of Thor following behind him._

_“What are you two up to now?” Frigga demanded as Loki skidded to a halt, grabbed her skirts, and swung around to clutch her legs from behind like they were his anchor to the world. Thor stopped in front of them, huffed, and crossed his arms._

_“Don’t hide behind mother you baby!” he stomped, scowling. “Come, and pay for your crimes!” It was clearly an attempt to look and sound menacing, but at barely eighty Thor’s wild blonde hair  and arms only just beginning to replace baby fat with muscle were more adorable than anything._

_“What have you done now, Loki?” his mother asked gently, giving her son a stern look._

_“Nothing, I swear!” the little raven-haired boy shrieked,t he fabric of her dress scrunching in his fists as he held on to her for dear life._

_“Well it must have been a rather large ‘nothing.’ You and Thor have made so much noise you disrupted my reading,” Frigga said, and Loki’s keen eyes instantly shot to the book held in her hands. It was leather-bound, large, and looked old; his favorite kind._

_“What is it?” he asked, and she held it down for him to see._

_“ Constellations of the Nine Realms,” he read the spine haltingly, but then his face lit up in a grin. “Could you give it to me when you’re done?” _

_“Of course, darling.” But Thor’s huff replaced Loki’s excitement with fear again, and Frigga turned to her golden son, who looked rather put-out._

_“Don’t give him more books!” Thor wailed. “Not after he-” Thor cut himself off, looking stricken, and Loki grinned mischievously._

_“Yes, what is it that you did to warrant Thor’s considerable wrath?” Looking down on her gleeful son, Frigga kept herself from laughing. Loki and his tricks always kept the palace on their toes, especially Thor. But most of the time they turned out to be harmless pranks, and ended in laughter more often than tears._

_“I turned his new bow and arrows into flowers while he was trying to impress lady_ Sif _.” he crowed, looking quite proud of himself. Indeed, his magic was progressing well and Frigga was pleasantly surprised at how much potential he held, but she couldn’t let him get away with humiliating his brother in front of a woman, even if Thor was then protesting that he didn’t care at all about Lady Sif, he just wanted his weapons back._

_“Loki, turn your brother’s weapons back to normal at once,” Frigga commanded in her sternest tone, and Loki wilted immediately, shrinking from under her shadow. “He may not admit it, but you hurt his feelings greatly, and that isn’t a good thing to do, is it?”_

_“No, mother,” he muttered, looking down at his feet._

_“Good. I’m afraid you’ll now have to wait for this book in penance,” she decreed. Loki put both hands to his heart and collapsed dramatically on the floor, Thor looking down on his prone form with confusion._

_“Wait! Don’t be so cruel, mother!” Loki cried from the floor. “I shall die deprived of words!” When Frigga didn’t give in to his dramatics, he got up, smoothed back his mussed black hair, and scowled in unhappy acceptance of his punishment._

_“Your weapons should have turned back after ten minutes,” Loki told Thor. “They should be fine now. I promise not to charm your stuff anymore.”_

_“Good! Then I forgive you,” Thor held out a hand, and the brother’s clasped each other’s forearms in a mimicry of the warrior’s handshake they had seen their father do so many times with his lieutenants._

_“Now, go and play in peace!” Frigga commanded. Her boys raced off down the hall, past the vase Thor had crashed into while he chased Loki, and disappeared around the corner. But not before she heard Thor say-_

_“Um, brother, you wouldn’t happen to know how to impress a girl after your brother has made you look like a complete fool, would you?”_

_“I could charm your hair if you like- girls like neat hair.” There was pride in Loki’s voice; he never had a hair out of place, claiming that wild locks like Thor’s were distracting and too messy to ever be attractive._

_“Really?” Thor obviously didn’t trust Loki, but a second later there was a small zapping noise and a yelp. Soon her two boys were back in sight, racing into the hallway adjacent Frigga without acknowledging her presence._

_Thor’s hair had been turned bright green. Loki laughed manically as his brother chased him through the palace again._

_Frigga sighed; those were her boys…_

Loki the unruly child, Loki the voracious reader, Loki beloved of Thor, Loki shadow of Thor, Loki Silvertongue, Loki Liesmith… she missed the simple days when he was simply her Loki.

               Hands brushed the last word-filled page absently, Frigga mentally went through the lives she had recorded this morning, compiled after a month of Loki’s absence, a new scroll delivered after only a few hours, or a day, or even two or three if Loki had a long life on Midgard.

               Baptized on April 26, 1564, William Shakespeare, renowned Midgardian playwright.

               Born August 26, 1819, died December 14, 1861, Prince Albert, beloved of Queen Victoria.

               There were dozens of lives within the book, each different, unique, and all of them distinctly Loki, but those two stuck with her. The Midgardian who even in their modern era was as quoted as the Bible and contributed hundreds of stories to their world, beautiful stories that even in Asgard were admired by their court playwrights and artisans… it was fitting that it was her Loki who dedicated a life to the pen, to bring stories to life, as it was a kind of magic all its own.

               _“One day I’ll do that,” Loki said, looking back at his mother with eyes reflecting the shining candlelight. In front of them the players and magicians took their final bows to thunderous applause, all of them sweaty, tired, and positively beaming._

_In the winter air Loki’s ears and nose were pink, and snow swirled around them in the amphitheater open to the sky, court magicians stopping it just before it hit the heads of the spectators. Snuggled in his furs Loki looked small, especially when compared to Thor, who was huge after a growth spurt that left his arms brawny and his chest like a barrel bound up in his bearskin cloak. But his eyes were excited and lit with the fire of invention, which had fueled many of his late-night projects; the sapphire necklace he gave to Frigga that projected her favorite constellations, Thor’s ring bonded with protective spells, which Loki claimed was “For when I’m not around to protect your considerable mass” although Frigga had yet to see Thor charge into some foolhardy quest without Loki by his side, the beautiful magic goblet covered in ruins that was a present for Odin, since during feasts cups were wont to spill, go missing, or get polluted by unsavory substances._

_“What, waste the court’s time with costumes and playacting?” Thor scoffed, looking bored. Loki shot him a glare._

_“No, put on performances that bring people to their feet, and without so many problems; all they needed were a few simple spells to keep the decorations hanging-” Loki began to explain, as critical of the performance as he was excited to, perhaps, make one of his own. It was the first time he had seen words used in such a way, outside of a book, and it absolutely fascinated him._

_Frigga laughed at his enthusiasm, and beside her Odin smiled, his fingers tightening around hers._

_“It will be a show to remember, Loki,” he said, causing his son’s smile to broaden even as he looked away, always overcome by his father’s praise. “And don’t be so quick to dismiss the actors and poets that entertain us, Thor. Wouldn’t you like your exploits one day to be worthy of the stage?”_

_This clearly hadn’t occurred to Thor, who furrowed his brow._

_“I have not yet done anything so daring…” he said thoughtfully._

_“I don’t know, I think the Great Custard Incident is worthy of the stage,” Loki offered with a puckish grin. “Come see the great Thor’s quest for proper desserts; daring battles with cutlery, fair kitchen maids defending their cooking, and Thor himself covered in-”_

_Thor shoved Loki playfully. “We were children!”_

_“You are children now,” Frigga reminded them, but Thor’s enthusiasm wasn’t diminished._

_“We must find a quest worthy of your words, Loki!” He declared, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Perhaps seeking the home of the Norns, or finding the lost sword of Surtur…”_

And their Prince Albert; shy, dedicated, inventor and reformer, equal of his wife the queen and utterly devoted to her. His Great Exhibition was most certainly Loki’s doing, Loki’s enthusiasm for the new genius of the world.

               Frigga’s hands trembled as she closed the book; The Many Lives of Loki of Asgard, and got up from the desk. Turning, she leaned against the wood and for the first time looked around the room, took in the view of what happened to her when she went a month without both sons healthy and whole.

               She had the sudden thought that it was a good thing Odin knew to always ask before entering her quiet space.

Paintings littered the room, some completely covered in color, brushstrokes capturing flawlessly many different scenes from Loki’s lives, including a few here and there of Loki himself, in Asgard. A few of them were only half-finished, and around the room sketches of her son in his various lives lay on top of the divan, the windowsill, even the floor and the fireplace mantel.

 Henry V and his wife Catherine, Prince Albert and Queen Victoria… most of the paintings were of Loki and anyone who was close to him in his mortal lives- anyone who mattered to him, because it was something Frigga had never dared to hope for her son. Painting and writing had been ways to remember him, and to understand who he was becoming on Midgard.

               Suddenly the sun burst through the windows, filtering through curtains swaying in the breeze to light up the room with gold and red. Her collage of Loki’s lives practically glowed, and even as she smiled at the warmth that rained down on her stiff body she noticed something impossible.

               Loki’s face, be it a Midgardian life or a scene from Asgard, was, she thought, the one constant between all of the pictures. The only continuity between them, but as golden rays brushed his face she realized with an eerie sense of dejavu that he was not the only one repeated. In nearly all of the pictures brown hair was illuminated, warm chocolate brown eyes smiling from the canvases, one pale face among so many of the paintings that appeared by her son’s side.

               Rushing over to the book on her desk, Frigga turned pages rapidly, shifting from life to life reading every physical description given and recorded in immaculate detail. And each time the description was almost exactly the same for the one woman, scattered throughout the centuries, that touched Loki’s lives, the one woman whom Frigga had painted exactly the same throughout centuries:

               Heart-shaped face, delicately arched eyebrows above a pair of striking, stunning eyes and full lips curled up in a smile like the sun and a stern expression that could cow the strongest man. Delicate, beautiful, fearsome.

               There was no such thing as coincidence.

*

**Midgard, 1914**

The hand that held his sword didn’t shake despite the pounding of Joey’s hooves beneath him, and the fear that struck him when the Gatling guns were pulled up from the brush to the sound of German yells. All around him the men rode, proud chestnuts, bays, blacks and dapple-greys shimmering with sweat like the brows of their riders.  No one pulled back, or shouted, or hesitated in the face of an enemy they had gravely miscalculated.

               1914, WWI raging in the middle of technological booms, convoluted alliances, and the blood, sweat, and tears of common soldiers wasted in the middle of trenches that stretched on for miles. The British Cavalry was hopelessly outdated in the face of new German weaponry, but how were they to know their intelligence was wrong, that the Germans had technology no one had counted on, that soon their bodies would be splayed out in the golden, waving tall grass beside the horses they so prized?

               _I’m sorry, Albert,_ Captain Nicholls thought numbly as they charged towards the flying bullets.

               He felt eight years old again, playing war with the other village children, only this time the blood that sprayed from the chest of the man riding beside him was real, and the screams of horses as they were driven into the ground more grating than the pretend gunfire of children.

               In those last seconds before they were on the guns Albert and Joey were not his last thoughts, though he hoped suddenly that the boy would get his sketchbook- know that the horse, in life, had not been treated badly by him. As bullets tore his chest and the sun set to light the golden tall grass on fire, and he fell into the golden embrace of the ground, sliding from Joey’s back, he thought of Sophie.

               Her long brown hair torn from its braid and sent spiraling in the wind, a laugh like music and a mouth as red as the fresh strawberries they grew in front of their home in the spring. The French ditties she sang to their infant daughter…

               His body hit the ground with a dull _thud,_ life fading from his bright blue eyes like the sun setting behind the hills of their country home, where Sophie stood with Elise in her hands and waited, waited, waited for her soldier who would not return from the war…

               The horses pounded on, the men continued to die in droves, and when all was said and done darkness consumed a field of the dead, as Joey, brown tail swishing, was led away, and Captain Nicholls did not follow.

               When the image of the battlefield faded as Heimdall’s hand slipped from his, Odin was shocked to see his familiar chambers around him, feel the weight of his armor rather than the light outfit of a cavalry officer. His heart hammered as if he, too, was on the brink of death, and it was all he could do to sink gracefully down into the chair rather than fall.

               “His soul has passed, then?” Odin said at last, looking up at Heimdall. The gatekeeper nodded gravely.

               “Yes, but this time the journey will be longer, I think. So many lives have passed, and this one ended in such trauma it will take time for him to find his way again to the light,” he intoned, amber eyes staring past the walls of the room to hidden facets of the universe.

               Before Odin could respond- if indeed there was anything to say after that- the doors to his chamber flew open to reveal Frigga, still dressed in her flowing morning gown, red hair tied in a braid by a simple ribbon rippling down her shoulder. She strode into the room, the only hint of her agitation the tightness in her shoulders and the thin line of her mouth.

               When she saw Heimdall she paused, pain flashing across her face.

               “The captain…” she murmured, and Heimdall nodded in answer the question looming above them all. Frigga’s head hung low for a moment, eyes drifting closed. “He was so kind… too kind for such a fate.”

               “What is troubling you, Frigga?” Odin asked, standing and striding over to take her hand. To his surprise, she let him; even after he had accepted her offer of reading Loki’s lives, and eased the pressure on Thor to choose a bride, Frigga had been short with him. This small token, her gracing him with touch, was a blessing and a sign of good things to come, he hoped.

               “I think it is time for you to see what I have been working on, holed up in my studio,” she said at last. “It is… most troubling.”

               But her smiling eyes did not look troubled at all.

*

_Dark rivers bled into a landscape of night, and overhead shadows with dark wings wheeled and turned in a sulpherous sky. There was no breeze, no moon or stars, and no end to the vast plain whose edges were obscured by mist so thick a blade couldn’t cut through it._

_In the middle of this darkness floated Loki, a spiraling, shimmering orb which contained not only his soul, but that of dozens of others, all pulsing and screaming and vying for dominance within a space only meant for one identity. The journey through darkness, through Helheim, which captured him at the sunset of each life on his journey to a new one, was an ever-encroaching spiral into madness. It was a wonder only a few of his lives had been spent in asylums, doubled over in pain as his one body coped with centuries of voices in his head._

_Not necessarily hell, nor Heaven, Helheim existed as an in-between for souls like Loki’s, that could not stay dead but must make the journey. Through the darkness he floated, blind, deaf, dumb and mute, memories replaying in flashes across the surface of the very essence of his being._

_Until at least he passed into the mist, and all feelings of torment were replaced with light, and crying, and laughter, white walls and white people that had waited for his arrival with anticipation, and love._

“William,” the woman, sweat-soaked and breaming, said proudly as she stroked her son’s fuzzy blonde hair. Beside her a man with wire-rimmed glasses looked down at the small child with a face simply too overcome with emotion to speak.

               “My little William.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Midgard_

Jane couldn’t believe that Erik had _finally_ contacted her, after falling off the grid a year and a half ago after the invasion of New York and hardly popping up since, and never long enough for them to meet.

               She also couldn’t believe that he had forced her to come all the way to London, promising that he was on the verge of discovering something incredible- and probably world-threatening-, and somehow she ended up in a crowded theatre with her parents instead of him in his lab.

               Despite the absence of a roof over the majority of the theatre, the many patrons crowding the rounded building made it incredibly hot. Beside her, her mother fanned herself with the program for the night’s production- Jane had long since forgotten the name, if she had paid attention long enough to know it in the first place. In the middle of Shakespeare’s Globe theatre, at 4:00 in the afternoon, shoved into a seat next to her parents and a teenager with a union jack t-shirt and a smartphone, she didn’t really care about anything but how long the play was and if it was worth hurting her parents’ feelings by leaving now.

               “Jane, look around!” her father prodded, directing her gaze to the tiered seats forming a donut around a pit and, in the middle, a roofed stage. The columns on the stage were painted with red and gold, and the ceiling contained paintings of cupids and monsters, leading up onto a roof that had a rather large and impressive balcony. Perhaps to a Shakespeare fan it inspired awe, transporting them back to the time of the bard himself, but to an astrophysicist it was a wooden building that would hold her hostage while Erik waited with precious research. Data that could lead to-

               _No._ She wouldn’t think about that. Not here, not now. Not after almost _two years_ since the New Mexico Incident with no word.

               Maybe the play was a good idea, after all…

               “…originally built in 1599, before it burned down and was rebuilt in a different location in 1614, but the truly fascinating thing is that-” her father prattled on, Jane only half-listening as she opened her program and tried to forget the giant, man-shaped shadow that had been looming over her for _way_ too long.

               “Oh, hush darling, Jane’s not interested in all of your trivia,” Jane’s mother said affectionately, kissing her father to shut him up. Jane buried herself in the program, reading every word several times before understanding it.

               Then, suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd.

               Jane’s head jerked up at the sudden silence, until she saw on stage a man dressed in what she assumed was a period-accurate Elizabethan costume. He was grinning broadly and bowed to all sides of the audience, before projecting his voice all around the theatre.

               “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Shakespeare’s Globe! We are delighted to present to you this afternoon Shakespeare’s _The Tempest,_ in its original form, for your viewing pleasure. Please, enjoy!” With one last bow, he strode from the stage, and the play began.

*

There was not a scientific bone in either of Jane’s parents, yet somehow the college English professor and World History lecturer ended up with an astrophysicist for a daughter. She was foreign to them in a way they had never dreamed their child could be- as much as they encouraged her to watch the stars, to go into advanced math, to enjoy majoring in the sciences in college, they never quite seemed to understand her because they couldn’t understand why she loved what she did.

               One thing they did understand, however, was love, so after the occurrence that Jane would merely call the “New Mexico Incident,” they understood that their daughter was going through the natural downward spiral that came after a whirlwind romance. So ever since then, and more so after the invasion of New York, the day the world changed, they had been plying her to come visit them in London and stay at least a few nights.

They missed their daughter, they missed her smile and her laugh, and even her babbling about the scientific study of the stars and her crazy physics theories. When she declined the offer to leave her fancy new facility- some mysterious benefactor agency, SWORD, or some crazy acronym like that, decided to hire her shortly before the invasion of New York- and come visit for the twentieth time, they had even resorted to reading her latest academic journals on Einstein Rosen Bridges, though they didn’t understand a word of them.

Then out of the blue one day Jane called to say that she would be in town, and her parents wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to where she would stay. Their flat wasn’t the biggest, but it was cozy and more spacious than it seemed, so before the week was out Jane had been on the first flight to London. They had even let her intern, Darcy, stay there- she was a funny girl, with the same kind of deadpan humor Jane’s mother had appreciated in her younger days.

Of course her parents knew that she hadn’t just had a change of heart- their Jane was more complicated than that-, but their daughter finally seemed to be getting back to her old self, or at least getting out of the lab, so they would let her keep her true motivations for coming a secret. It was enough that she was there with them, had been there with them for almost three days now and seemed alright. It was enough that tonight, they had finally managed to drag her to a proper Shakespearean play.

*

Pale like ice and painted with shadows rimming narrowed eyes, light casting shadows across knife-sharp cheekbones and a starkly defined jaw. Nimble, limber body rushing to and fro at the whim of whatever breeze wafted through the theatre. Creating, with a voice smooth and low and undulating across the audience, humanity with his words when he of all the people on the stage looked the least human.

               There was no way to describe the man who played the air spirit other than arid, light, sympathetic and empathetic, looking strong enough with shoulders set to withstand a hurricane, and meek enough when kneeling in the flowing tunic of blue and collar of silver-dusted peacock feathers to inspire pity. He was incredible, and many sets of eyes in the audience, seasoned theatre-goers, recognized the newcomer’s talent as he mingled among much more experienced actors and held his own beautifully.

               Unfortunately, Jane neither liked nor appreciated theatre, and didn’t take any notice of him as more than another actor in a flashy costume, spewing out fancy words that reminded her painfully of _him_. Play; not a good idea.

“You could watch the stars, unmoving points of light, for hours and you can’t sit through Shakespeare,” her father murmured in her ear, starting her enough that she jumped a little in her seat. Still, the hands in her lap couldn’t stop twisting and fraying the corners of the program, and she licked her lips impatiently.

“At least try, honey,” he whispered good-naturedly. “Maybe if you pay attention to the stage instead of murdering that program you’ll realize there are a few things up there worth seeing.”

               Jane honestly tried her best to find something entertaining in the play, but the farthest she got was something about a shipwreck and a hard-hearted wizard with a daughter, which quickly devolved to her watching the man playing the wind spirit- Ariel, according to her program. There was something incredibly captivating in the way he practically floated on stage, the shadows casting sharp hollows over his pronounced cheekbones and strong, refined jaw. Suddenly, in spite of herself, she was interested, and if she was being honest with herself it was because after almost two years of pining over the same man, she found herself longing for the company of someone new.

               For now, the actor on stage provided a nice mental substitute for ignoring the play while appearing to pay attention. She could feel guilty about it later. 

               Two acts and what seemed like an eternity later, Jane’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She hadn’t turned it off since she got Erik’s first call and set up her lab in her parents’ house, for fear that Erik might _finally_ tell her where he was and she would miss the call.

               Despite her mother’s disapproving look, and the frowns of the house crew by the doors leading into the lobby, Jane, phone in hand, got up and left the theatre in the middle of the last act. Darcy’s text of “Eqpmnt wrkng again. Weird purple-light sciency stuff. Just like NM. CALL ME” was infinitely more important than a four-hundred-and-something year-old play and some eye-candy actor.

               Pacing in the lobby with the phone to her ear, ignoring the bright sunlight streaming into her eyes, Jane bit her lip so hard she would have split the skin had Darcy not answered after the third ring.

               “Jane, is that you?” her voice said almost unintelligibly over the phone, as if she was talking with food her mouth. Knowing Darcy, she was eating pop tarts at the work table again.

               “Yeah, I got your text. What do you mean, readings like New Mexico?!” Jane demanded, shushing herself when her voice rose to an uncomfortable level.

               “Exactly what I said. Duh.” Jane wanted to throw something at Darcy through the phone. “They aren’t very strong, but I have a location and if you’re not doing anything I think we should check it out-”

               It killed Jane to say it- her work was her life, finding _him_ was all she cared about- but she couldn’t just leave her parents in the middle of a play, after they paid two hundred dollars for good seats and let her stay at their place, and put up with her two-year break-up angst.

               “I can’t, I’m busy, but keep monitoring the equipment and _as soon as_ I get back we’ll check it out, got it?” she ordered. Darcy mumbled a “Yes, captain!” to the sound of poptart wrappers crinkling and Jane hung up just as the doors of the theatre opened and the crowds spilled out.

               “What was that all about?” her father asked as he and her mother approached arm-in-arm. “I hope it was a man- that’s the only excuse available, I’m afraid.”

               “No, dad,” Jane said, not sure whether to be angry at the comment or disappointed that she wished the same thing. Even with her research, she was never one for being truly alone, and while Erik and Darcy filled that void, Thor had opened a new place in her life for a different kind of companionship and then disappeared before filling it. “It was Darcy.”

               “Good, then it’s not an emergency,” her mother said, looping her arm in Jane’s quickly and propelling her to a side door before Jane could protest. “Because your father and I are friends with the actor who plays Prospero- the wizard, if you didn’t make it that far- and he’s invited us backstage.”

               “Actually, mom, it is pretty important-”

               “No; you’re ours for the day, Jane. Or at least until we set foot outside this theatre.” Chuckling, her mother pulled them all through the door and into world where illusion and reality were so mixed it was hard to tell the difference between the two.

               Costumes were draped over makeup tables, the backstage area filled with actors and tech crew running about dismantling the set pieces, gathering props, removing makeup or pulling off large pieces of costume. In front of one table an older man pulled off a pointed hat and wiped away the radical stage makeup covering his features, but as soon as he saw Jane’s parents he turned around and grinned broadly.

               “Amanda, John!” he exclaimed, embracing both. “What did you think of the show? I hope you enjoyed yourselves!”

               “It was wonderful, Barty,” her mother laughed, patting the man’s arm fondly. Jane vaguely remembered his name from the program- playing the role of Prospero the magician, Bartholomew Whitehall.

               “Good, good! And I’m so glad you took me up on my offer to see this place. It’s something, isn’t it?” Barty laughed, a merry sound that was filled with youthful energy.

               “Indeed. Barty, this is our daughter, Jane,” her father introduced them, and Jane shook Barty’s slender hand with a tight smile.

               “Ah, the astrophysicist,” he said, a knowing gleam in his eye. “I expect you aren’t that big a fan of the theatre, eh? Not as much as your parents, at least.”

               Jane smiled weakly, unable to think of a more appropriate response. “Not really, normally, but I did love the show. It was very… nice.”

               “’Nice,’” he laughed, shaking his head. His attention quickly went back to her parents, though, and Jane’s gaze began to wander as she fidgeted in anticipation of returning to the lab.       

               When she caught sight of Ariel- no, the actor who played him- her heart skipped a beat. Barely twenty feet away, his makeup was even more radical and striking up close, unable to conceal his handsome features without the stage’s height and distance. He was still in his blue flowing tunic and tight black pants, but as she watched he removed the collar of peacock feathers, handing it to the costume attendant with whom he was chatting amiably. When he pulled off the black wig to reveal slicked back blonde curls, and laughed at something the woman said, butterflies flew through Jane’s stomach.

               What was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt like this since high school, the science nerd who had a crush on the prom king (an unbearable cliché she had attempted to forget ever since).

               She looked away quickly, back at Barty, but instead of blending back into the conversation she found three pairs of eyes watching her, and three mouths with some degree of a smile on them.

               “Liked him in the show, did you?” Barty chuckled knowingly with a glance at the man. “William Hart’s his name. One of the finest up-and-coming actors I’ve seen in quite a long time. He’s slated to play the titular character in next year’s production of _Coriolanus_ you know.”

               Yes, very nice, how wonderful, goodbye. I have science to do and not time for boys, thanks.

               “William!” When Ariel- _William_ \- heard Barty call, he looked up, caught sight of them, and his sunny smile returned. Striding over to them with his tunic fluttering, showing the definition of his arms and chest each time it was pushed against his skin, his footsteps echoed like the pounding of Jane’s heart.

               No, thank you, I don’t need this. Go away. Please.

               “Barty!” he exclaimed once he reached them, clapping the older man on the shoulder with a grin. “Magnificent job today- and an honor, as always.”

               But Barty just waved away the praise and gestured to Jane’s parents. She attempted to shrink into the background, but there was very little room with all of them crowded together and her parents were the only thing between then.

               “The honor’s all mine, son, for I have the pleasure of introducing two very good friends of mine. Amanda and John Foster; theatre fanatics, truly,” he introduced them, and William shook her father’s hand firmly, and kissed the top of her mother’s hand in an old-fashioned gesture which seemed, somehow, completely normal when he did it.

               “We loved you in the show, Mr. Hart,” her mother said, causing him to look away and shake his head.

               “Spectacular, truly,” her father added.

               “Thank you. I-I’m delighted that you enjoyed it, really. It was very much a team effort,” William said, putting an arm around Barty’s shoulders. He was so infectiously happy, that smile spreading the warmth and light of the sun in the little group; his entire presence was calming.

               “But you stood out marvelously. In fact, Jane couldn’t keep her eyes off of you!” her mother laughed as she pushed Jane forward, so she and William were only a few feet away from each other.

               Jane’s entire brain, in that moment, decided to stop working.

               _He reminds me so much of- NO!_

               “Our daughter, Jane Foster,” her father elaborated.

               But he did, from his blonde hair to his easy laugh and smile he reminded her of the god who left her. If a bit more delicate in the features, but when William suddenly raised a hand to take hers she saw the muscles in his arms where the tunic fell away and Jane had the sudden thought that he probably wouldn’t have any problem at all lifting heavy things. Or people. Person.

               “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Foster,” he kissed her hand just like he had her mother’s, but if Jane wasn’t imagining it, then he did it with a very different look in his eyes.

               “Um… uh,” when it became apparent Jane wasn’t going to get anything coherent out of her mouth she snapped her lips shut and let her hand fall away limply.

               She didn’t really pay attention for the rest of the conversation, doing her best not to stare at William and instead absorbing herself in texting Darcy about the details of the equipment, until her parents hugged their friend goodbye and Jane offered a weak “nice to meet you.”

               “Well, that William seems like a fine man,” her mother said on their way out, glancing at Jane not-so-subtly. “Educated at Eaton and Cambridge, and a recent graduate of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. A _fine man_.”

               “Especially since you won’t tell us what happened to the last one.” Her father nudged her shoulder.

               “I told you it wasn’t a big deal, dad,” Jane said, blushing furiously.

               “Alright, let’s leave her alone, John.” Thankfully her mother, once her opinion was clearly stated, was content to let Jane stew over the encounter herself. As her father followed suit, Jane once again plugged herself into the phone and Darcy- the equipment had stopped but she managed to save the readings- and resolved to forget all about the crazyrandomhappenstance that was William.

*

Little did she know, William had not nearly forgotten her. In fact, in the warm light of the pub, a glass of beer in his hand, surrounded by his mates and fellow actors, he was more interested in remembering the exact details of her face than participating in the rowdy wordgames and bawdy jokes his mates preferred. It was an actor trait- loving words, and all of them lived up to Shakespeare’s characters, regular Mercutio’s and Gratiano’s, the lot of them.

               “What’s _dear_ William mooning about?” Drew said suddenly, sliding onto the stool next to William with a sly grin on his face. “Not that girl from the ‘backstage tour?’”

               “Say, she w _as_ pretty. Saw her from the makeup tables- pretty brown hair, green eyes, I think,” Peter filled in, and suddenly everyone was whistling and nocking William on the shoulder like a pack of schoolboys. For all their ages between twenty and thirty-five, they were young at heart. Such is the privilege of those who command the stage, but William was more thoughtful as he swirled around his barely touched beer.

               “Brown eyes, actually.” He contradicted Peter, prompting more whistles.

               “Is our William smitten?” Drew called. “Is it _true love_ for the king of the stage?”

               “Wait, wait!” Julie, on the costume crew in charge of William and Prospero’s cloths, called from her booth in the back. “I saw her myself, all stuttering and mumbling before she buried herself in her phone. Let me guess, this awkward beauty doth teach the torches to burn bright?”

               The prompted more laughter and even a smile from William, but his voice was thoughtful and completely serious when he replied.

               “Brighter than the stars, mate.” 

*

When Frigga finished reading Heimdall’s report about Loki’s latest life- this William, finally born into the modern century, the century from which they all hoped he would return from- she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The paintings around her of Loki and this mysterious woman made sense at last, but she feared it would be at the expense of Thor’s recent happiness.

               She had no idea what had happened to make him suddenly notice Lady Sif, but lately all of their rides into the fields, their frequent training bouts, and the way her company seemed to ease his troubled mind, took on more meaning than that of just friends.

               _He deserves to know._ She thought resolutely, rolling back up the parchment and heading out of her study. She called the nearest servant to her, and ordered him to find Thor and give him the scroll. It seemed as though their tenuous peace the past few weeks was about to be broken, but Loki was on his last life, she could feel it. After this, the order of their lives would be changed forever.


	6. Chapter 6

 “So, tell me all about this William guy?” Darcy said as soon as Jane entered the apartment, practically slamming the door behind her. Her parents had chosen to go out for lunch after the play, but Jane declined and rushed back to their home on the metro.

               “What??” Jane’s hand, about to hang up her coat, fell limply to her side. “How do you know about that?”

               “Your parents texted. _Duh._ ” Waving her phone, Darcy returned to recording the scans from the now normal-sounding equipment, a small, triumphant smile on her face. “Apparently he was pretty cute, and _quite_ the gentleman.”

               In one stiff move Jane hung her coat and strode over to the “lab” (her parent’s dining room), promising to ignore any and all comments about William.

               “So,” she said, “What happened with the equipment.”

               “Fine, you don’t want to talk about Mr. Brit, I get it,” but her cheeky tone of voice told Jane very clearly that Darcy wouldn’t let it go by a long shot.

               “You said there were readings like in New Mexico?” Jane snapped. Darcy handed her a notebook filled with scribbled readouts and numbers.

               “And… here,” one more sheet of paper, this one a printed picture covered in purple, green, and mostly red swirls of color and light, distorted shapes in the middle of a clear weather formation. Except there were shapes in it- what looked like… a soda can? And… a shoe?

               “This is a much smaller occurrence than what brought Th- sorry, _him,_ ” Darcy’s raised hands were a signal that she was genuinely sorry for almost saying _that_ name, but Jane still stiffened a bit. It was pathetic how much it still affected her.

                              “Yeah, but it looks like they dumped a bunch of trash this time.” Getting absorbed in the new questions this presented, Jane began to pace. “And it doesn’t look as concentrated as the one from New Mexico, so probably not a full Einstein Rosen-bridge…”

               “What else could it be, though? I mean, it’s exactly the same- literally a tear in the fabric of space and time,” Darcy commented from her post. “This is Doctor Who stuff!”

               “Dr. What?” But Jane was barely listening, mind racing with the possibilities. This couldn’t have been a concentrated beam, so not intentional travel, especially since it looked like just a bunch of cosmic trash. Perhaps a smaller back door then, or an unintentional tear? The thought sent shivers down her spine.

               “…Time Lord and _totally_ hot but also pretty smart, because he’s got this big blue box-”

               “A back door,” Jane explained suddenly, turning to Darcy as a shocked grin spread across her face.

               “And this girl named Rose who is crazy badass-”

               “Darcy!” Jane snapped, and the intern stared at Jane with raised eyebrows.

               “I’m sensing your I’ve-got-a-crazy-theory-that-sounds-bonkers-but’s-probably-right look.”

               “It’s a back door, Darcy! Created on purpose or accidentally, either way it’s a constant portal from our world to theirs! This explains the strange weather we’ve been having-”

               “We’re in London, I’m pretty sure it’s always raining here.”

               “But not like this! Not the strange on-off storms they’ve been having lately!” Suddenly the equipment began to beep wildly again, and GPS targeting the spot where the energy readouts were coming from and printing out a satellite image of the new readings- S.H.I.E.L.D. may have taken her stuff initially, but their resources were incredible- exactly matching the ones in Jane’s hand. Only this time there was more trash in the mix.

               “So it activates every time something goes through, but from our world or theirs? Darcy, get the location- we need to check this out.” Jane rushed to pull on her coat, buzzing with excitement, at the possibility of finding an unattended bridge between worlds.

*

The sun was low in the sky by the time they left the apartment, casting orange and red streaks across the brilliant London skyline, a cool autumn breeze powering the fierce thunderheads slowly rolling in. Shivering and pulling her coat tighter around herself, Jane wished she had thought to wear a hat, like Darcy, but they were halfway to their location- some sort of abandoned factory by the water- when it occurred to her.

               Cars and taxies whizzed by on the street, and people milled around in the chill air outside of shops. A few steps ahead of them some men stumbled out of a pub, for a brief minute lighting up the converging night with warm light and the sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, and good music. Jane just skirted around the men, focused on getting to their destination before it was completely dark, but Darcy eyed a few of them with a sly smile. Resorting to looping her arm through the other girl’s just to get her away, the last thing Jane expected to hear was a warm, smooth, accented voice calling after her as she hurried away.

               “Jane!” How did he know her name? She started walking faster, illogically freaked out, but Darcy broke her hold and turned around.

               “Jane, do you know this dude?” she whispered, staring, unabashed, at the man and his circle of friends. They stayed behind as he jogged over, breath fogging in the rapidly cold air, but when he came into the light of a nearby store his golden curls were lit up and his white teeth shone like floodlights through his sunny smile.

               “Jane Foster!” he said again, there were a few catcalls behind them. Instantly red flooded his cheeks and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking, suddenly, unsure, but no less excited to see her. “Ah, you might not remember me from earlier today, but I’m-”

               “William!” Darcy blurted, an appreciative look on her face as she took in his infectious smile and lanky, well-toned form.

               William looked just as surprised as Jane at Darcy’s outburst, but all she could do was grin back and forth between the two of them.

               “You’re William! Aka Hot Actor Guy Jane’s parents told me all about!” she said, “So, wind spirit, where’d you _blow in_ from?”

               “Um, Darcy,” Jane’s hands spasmed to cover her friends mouth, or shove her away, or anything, because she was sure William was about to run away screaming or worse-

               “The pub, actually,” he didn’t miss a beat, and even laughed a little at Darcy’s lame pun.

She mouthed “he’s perfect!” to Jane, and not very subtly, which made him laugh again.

“We ‘hot actor guys’ like to unwind after every show before rehearsal starts again. _The Silver Snake;_ best pub in London, if you’re ever looking for a pint.” He looked completely earnest, and Jane swallowed nervously, unable to deny that she was flattered at the obvious invitation.

“Sorry… um, sorry, but, we’re sort of on a, a…” What did one say when one was headed to the site of a possible tear between the fabric of two worlds?

“A secret mission,” Darcy supplied coyly. William’s eyebrows shot up, but he looked kindly intrigued.

“A secret mission…”

“Yep. We’re scientists working with super-secret government agencies, so, not really supposed to discuss it.” Winding a strand of hair around her finger, Darcy was obviously enjoying playing spy, and William, for his part, was completely rolling with it.

“Yes, you’re an astrophysicist, if I remember correctly?” Deftly moving the conversation back to Jane, a small half-smile moved its way onto William’s face, and Jane got the particular feeling that he didn’t think either of them were crazy at all. However, that didn’t change the fact that the handheld portal-tracker in her hand was beeping and it was now so dark that streetlights were flickering on, the lights from the city illuminating the sky so that Jane could barely see the stars, wedged between buildings as she was.

“I am, yes, and right now we are late for the mission, so, bye!” She waved politely and started to turn around, dragging Darcy with her.

“Wait!” William exclaimed, rapidly rooting around in his pockets. “Wait just a moment… oh, I’m so sorry, I can never find anything when I need it… sorry…”

After a second of searching and Jane trying to subtly get away while Darcy held her back, William was taking her hand and clicking a pen. He gave her a sheepish look before touching her.

“May I?” When she nodded numbly, he smiled again and deftly wrote a phone number on the back of her hand. All she could think about as he did was how warm and long and smooth his fingers were; the hands of a musician.

“Look, this may seem a bit forward, but, I’d love to get to know you,” he was the picture of sincerity, small half-smile, eyes shifting between blue and green holding hers, hand rather reluctantly letting hers fall away.

_Come on, just tell him “No, sorry, currently in the process of getting over a god who professed his love to me and hasn’t visited for almost two years.”_

“Ah-”

“And she would _love_ to get to know you!” Darcy, compensating for Jane’s sudden lack of vocal chords, wrote her number on William’s hand.

“Well, I’ll call you,” he said as he backed up, grinning like he just won the lottery. “Tomorrow, perhaps- after your secret mission is done?”

“She’d love dinner!” Darcy called as Jane dragged her away to the sound of William’s laughter.

Once they were a few minutes away, Jane allowed herself to freak out a little.

“What are you so upset about? You got a date with the guy who could be Thor’s brother!” Was Darcy’s response to Jane’s hyperventilation and dagger eyes. “Did you _see_ his arms beneath that jacket? And blonde! He even sounded like he knew what an astrophysicist was.”

“Darcy, the last thing I need is a distraction!” she snapped, trying to calm down and read how far away they were from the warehouse.

“Jane, you needed a distraction when you spent six months in a S.H.I.E.L.D. compound manically fiddling with the tesseract and trying to make your own Bifrost. And then, when the crying started, and the moping, and not getting dressed, ice-cream for every meal- which is totally fine, to each her own, but there’s a point when it gets to be too much… And that’s all _before_ the invasion of New York!” It hurt when Darcy was right.

“So when he calls you tomorrow and asks you on a date you’re doing to say yes, put on some proper lady clothes, and spend a nice evening in the arms of a man who looks like he walked out of a _Gentleman’s Magazine_ ad.” 

Some of the tightness in her chest had begun to abate, but suddenly Jane was too tired to argue with Darcy. Instead, she nodded wearily and passed her device to Darcy.

“How far away are we from the anomaly?” she asked, head in her hands.

“Oh, we’ve been here for like, ten minutes,” came Darcy’s nonchalant voice from above Jane’s head, which whipped up to stare at her in disbelief.

“ _Ten minutes?_ Why didn’t you tell me? We’ve been losing time!” she exclaimed, looking around them at the small parking lot in front of the tall, skeletal building that looked to be predominantly large storage spaces and towers of winding stairs.

“Well, when you started having your little freak out I texted the intern to stay in the car and just sort of let you do your thing.” She shrugged, but Jane’s eyes had already strayed to the red car parked in the middle of the lot. A gangly young man waved at her from the front seat.

“You have an intern?” she said weakly.

“Yep. He’s not paid either. Hey intern!” Darcy’s “command voice” was probably heard all over London, because in less than a second the intern was scrambling from the car, trunk popped, and looking expectantly at Darcy.

“My name’s Ian!” he said when both women had made their way to him. This went completely unheard by Darcy, who was busy tampering with their portal-detector to show which building the anomaly occurred in.

“Yeah, ok. Bring the phase meter, intern,” she said absently as she walked to the building. “It’s the toaster-looking thing!”

“I know what the phase meter is!” Ian said grumpily, but the way he practically leapt out of the trunk with the device in hand and followed Darcy was reminiscent of an excited puppy.

Inside the warehouse it was almost completely black but for the city lights leaking in through the holes in the roof and the large open loading bay doors overlooking the water. Shining her flashlight around, Jane took the handheld device from Darcy and localized the readings to just within the building- and the entire screen went purple, red, and green like a themed Christmas tree. There was only a thin veil of the tear between worlds over most of the building, but it thickened into a cylindrical shape in the northwest corner. Swiveling to face that way, the beam of Jane’s flashlight whirled wildly across the floor and ceiling of the warehouse, and a loud, knocking noise came from a corner.

“Jane, I am _not_ getting stabbed in the name of science,” Darcy whispered, raising her hands in the air in surrender. “It’s okay, we’re Americans!”

“Is that supposed to make them like you?” Jane heard Ian ask, and the small flapping noise of Darcy’s coat sleeve as she reached behind her and attempted to hit him.

“Shh!” Jane said suddenly, hearing in the sudden silence hushed, quivering voices that didn’t belong to her companions. They sounded like… kids?

“Make it go away…” a small girl’s voice said, and another, probably a boy, shushed her as Jane had Darcy. Not a second later three children crawled out from behind a stairwell at the northwest corner of the warehouse, wide-eyed and afraid.

“Are you the police?” the dark-skinned girl asked apprehensively.

“No, we’re scientists,” Jane reassured them- she couldn’t tell how they reacted to that, she wasn’t much good with kids. “Well, I am.”

“Thanks,” Darcy muttered, but Jane was too busy observing the three conferring children. At last they broke apart, and looked squarely at Jane and her little team. When he spoke, the little boy sounded like he was apologizing and making an excuse.

“We just found it!”

Science-senses tingling, Jane’s grip on the flashlight tightened and she had to take a breath to steady herself, every bone in her body shivering with excitement.

“Can you show us?”

*

It was hard to believe there was something besides the giant floating firetruck that continued to hover in midair even when Navid took his hand out from under the bumper, but the portal Maddie and Erik showed her was even more fantastic than the physics-defying truck down below. Up on the stairwell, which curved in on itself to leave a five by five column of open air in the middle, Jane watched in fascination as Erik picked up a dirty bottle from the floor gingerly and tossed it into the middle of the stairwell. Instead of hearing a shatter, there was nothing, and when Jane, Darcy, and Ian peered over the railing expecting to see a broken bottle five flights below them, there was nothing.

               “Where’d it go?” Jane asked, heartbeat racing when her device registered that they were standing practically inside the tear, the middle of the stairs.

               She was so engrossed that she almost missed Maddie pointing up, and not a second later the bottle reappeared above them, only to fall and vanish in exactly the same place as before. It continued to fall and disappear, an endless loop defying the laws of physics, but even the phase-mater registered the absence of mass in their vicinity, and its abrupt reconstruction for the two seconds of its return.

               “That’s…” she had to swallow before continuing, mouth dry as cotton balls. “That’s incredible.”

Aching to try it herself, she picked up a crushed can and tossed it into the portal, expecting it to reappear and enter a loop with the brown bottle.

One second.

Two.

Three.

“What happened?” Darcy asked from her place a flight above them, looking disappointed.

“Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don’t,” Erik said with a shrug.

“I want to throw something!” Above, Darcy demanded Jane’s shoe and was promptly ignored as Jane set her device to record every second of activity around the portal for later.

“Give me your shoe.” A minute later Ian’s shoe was vanishing and reappearing to Darcy’s claps.

“Um, sorry to interrupt, Dr. Foster, but shouldn’t we call S.H.I.E.L.D. or something?” Ian asked softly, looking down at Jane with concern on his face.

“Nah, they don’t need to know quite yet-” Talking before realizing that the wrong person had asked, Jane’s head whipped up to stare at Ian, still looking concerned, and Darcy, cheering as she threw his other shoe into the portal.

“Darcy!” Jane exclaimed, knowing she shouldn’t be surprised at her intern’s behavior. “We weren’t supposed to tell anyone about S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“Eh, I figured he should know what he was getting in to.” Shrugging, Darcy’s lower lip stuck out in a pout when one of the shoes didn’t appear.

“Isn’t a tear space sort of a bad thing?” Ian continued, and Jane messaged her forehead and groaned.

“If we call S.H.I.E.L.D. now they’ll probably just put hazard tape all over everything and shut us out, just like they shut me out of the tesseract project at the last minute,” she explained, swallowing the momentary flash of anger at the memory. She tried to be more rational when she was told, after the fact, that S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent her to Oslo as a favor to Thor, but that didn’t make it any less pleasant. Having the project of a lifetime ripped from her hands and being separated from Erik had just sent her into an even worse downward spiral.                “Oh, speaking of last minute!” Darcy chirped, looking down at Jane with mischief in her eyes. “It’s getting pretty late- we should probably take the kiddies home and get you in bed! You’ll need beauty sleep for your date tomorrow!”

“A- what? There is _no_ guarantee that he’ll call tomorrow, Darcy,” Jane shot back. “Or ever, for that fact!”

“ _Please,_ he’s a gentleman! I bet ten bucks he’ll call you before noon tomorrow.” Passing Ian as he tried to reach his single, looping shoe, Darcy took the device from Jane and turned it off before she could grab it back.

“Ian, find out where the kids live and drop the car off before you go home!” Darcy called as she looped an arm through Jane’s and dragged her from the building, from the anomaly that could prove Jane’s Foster Theory and towards something even more frightening than the universe collapsing in on itself to open portals to other dimensions: a date.

*

Thor’s hands began to shake as he read the scroll detailing Loki’s new life. It only detailed the first day of Heimdall watching him, but this “William Francis Hart,” by the end of the report, was thirty and on the cusp of becoming a very famous actor on the London Stage. When he read that, Thor had a momentary flash of warmth in his chest- Loki, able to use his acting abilities to entertain and bring light to the lives of others. There was a cosmic significance in that that made Thor hope again, but the last paragraph quickly snuffed out that bright flame.

               _Will complete the third successful run of Shakespeare’s_ The Tempest _and meet backstage, momentarily with astrophysicist Jane Foster and her parents, Amanda and John Foster, before departing the theatre for a post-show celebration at a nearby pub. He will bump into her again only a few hours later, exchange numbers on her hand, and return to the pub for the rest of the night._

Jane.

               Loki had met Jane.

               _“Maybe I’ll pay her a visit myself!”_ The words of a madman tore through his ears, bringing back flashes of painful memories and that one line, over and over again.

_“Maybe I’ll pay her a visit myself!”_

That was the first moment in his life when he had truly not known his brother- not seen the same love and loyalty in those green eyes as were reflected in his.

               And the painful thing was that Thor had no idea what either Jane or Loki would do. Now that his punishment had reached the present day, time was flowing normally again- for every day on Asgard roughly four passed on Midgard; four hours for every hour. What had happened now, in the hours since this scroll had been recorded?

               Leaning back against the stable wall, Thor let his eyes fall closed, jaw clenched, scroll crumpled in his hand.

               _William is good,_ he thought. _Against all odds, this mortal who holds my brothers soul is… honorable, and peaceful, and loved. But Jane…_

“Thor?” Guilt, an emotion foreign to him before Loki’s spiral into madness, rippled through him at the voice calling from within the stables. “Are you alright, my prince?”

               A warm hand fell on his unarmored shoulder, delicate, calloused fingers tightening ever so slightly through the tunic covering his large bulk.

               “It is nothing, Sif,” he said, lifting his head and looking at her in an attempt to dispel the worry on her face. The shield-maiden looked unconvinced, eyes narrowing when they saw the wrinkled parchment in Thor’s hand.

               “‘Nothing’ does not cause a prince of Asgard so much grief,” she said, gaze meeting Thor’s, pressing for an answer.

               This forwardness was new, even for them; the days of Sif being skittish of criticizing, pushing, or being close to him were long gone. Perhaps they had only existed because of Thor’s blindness, but ever since the day she saw the tear tracks from him crying in the crypts, and their ride into the fields together, the distance between them seemed to vanish little by little, until it was nothing but the fabric between Sif’s hand and the skin of his shoulder.

               She deserved the truth, especially since the conflicted feelings raging in Thor’s chest had only grown worse since reading about Jane, knowing that he had broken an oath to her, and knowing that he wasn’t entirely sure he had meant it in the first place.

               “It is… Loki,” he said weakly, offering her the considerably lengthy scroll. She began to scan it quickly, eyes darting down the page. “He has finally been reborn in Midgard’s modern age, and-”

               “He has met your woman.” Crinkling dangerously in her hand, Sif practically shoved the scroll back at Thor.

               “Sif-”

               “Say nothing, Thor,” she said suddenly, the fire gone from her eyes as quickly as it had come. Instead, it was replaced by a kind of terrible emptiness Thor had never seen before. “I understand; she is your love, and has your oath. I was a fool to think…”

               “To think what?” Rising, Thor’s brow knitted in worry and confusion, but Sif choked the words down and turned away, dark blue riding habit whirling with her.

               “Nothing. I let myself hope when there was none. It was my mistake.”

               She was gone before Thor could do a thing, leaving him alone with the whinnying horses and bustling stableboys, who resolutely acted as if the fight had not happened.

               Thor wanted to hit something.

               Instead, he took the wiser course of action- one that Loki would have approved of- and went to see his mother.

*

“Come in, Thor.”

               Frigga’s gentle voice prompted him to open the door to her studio- her haven, somewhere, as a child, which had always been a safe place.

               _“What are you doing, mother?” a blonde boy, rubbing one eye tiredly, asked the woman who sat in front of the loom, the vibrant red thread nothing to her bronze curls as they tumbled down her back in a waterfall. Thor was obviously trying very hard not to look tired, but after a morning of playing with Loki and then training with the swordmaster, he was sweaty, smelly, and exhausted._

_“I’m weaving,” Frigga said patiently, moving the shuttle and continuing to create the sunset cloak, rays of sunlight captured forever in golden, red, and shimmering brass thread._

_“But yesterday you were writing!” Swaying on his feet, Thor peered around the room until the bookshelf caught his eye, and the large leather-bound tome open on the desk next to it. “In that book!”_

_“My studio is where I can do as I wish. Sometimes that is weaving, sometimes writing, sometimes other things.” A smile curled onto her face at Thor’s indigence at being tricked. Not knowing all of his mother’s secrets, and everyone else’s, was a constant hindrance to the young prince. “You look tired, darling- I think it’s time for you to rest.”_

_“I’m not tired!” he argued, crossing his arms, mouth contorting as he swallowed a yawn. Frigga held her laughter back, knowing it would only prompt him to argue more._

_“There’s nothing shameful in a nap- even Loki’s taking one, and he didn’t work half as hard as you this morning on his magic.”_

_That got Thor’s attention- Loki, resting, and after done hardly anything? Such laziness was unheard of in his brother, unless it was well-earned. Frigga continued her weaving, but watched the small gears in Thor’s head turn, considering how soft the divan where Loki currently lay, curled around himself like a cat._

_Deciding it was worth the shame, as long as only mother saw him, Thor shook off his shoes and jumped onto the divan, dragging a blanket over himself and his brother as he pressed his back against Loki and was asleep in minutes, the noonday sun streaming down. In the light his hair was as gold as the thread in Frigga’s woven sunrise._

Thor had no idea that as she closed the book she was reading, setting it aside on the same divan that he and Loki had napped on as children, that he was not the only one with that particular memory on his mind.

               Now the room was no longer cluttered with books or weaving as it had been when they were children- for the last eighty years Frigga’s passion was painting, and occasionally transcribing, the fruits of her labor scattered around the room covered by sheaths of fabric.

               Frigga’s eyebrows raised at his appearance- and the smell he brought with him, but her smile at his presence didn’t wane.

               “Just like when you were a boy,” she said fondly. “Tired, and smelling of horses.”

               For a moment they laughed together at the memories, but then Thor saw Loki holding Jane’s hand, the hurt in Sif’s eyes, and the room seemed to lose its warmth.

               “What troubles the mighty Thor?” Frigga asked as she floated over, hands coming to rest briefly on his shoulders before she clasped them again in front of her. “I haven’t seen your eyes so sad in days; what happened?”

               “Sif is… displeased with me.”

               To suit the severity of the situation, Frigga turned away to conceal her smile. She never dreamed those words would come from her son’s mouth.

               “And what have you done to incur her displeasure?” she asked. When he did not deny her assumption that it was his fault, her eyes went to the scroll stuffed in his belt loop, and her eyes went saddened, the few lines in her face seeming to deepen without her cheerful spirit to erase them.

               “I don’t know,” Thor said wearily, shaking his head.

               “That _is_ a problem.”

               “I was reading the scroll you sent me- Loki’s newest life, and when I saw that he met Jane… Mother, how could this have happened? Of all the vastness of Midgard, he has tied his fate with hers?” The desperation in Thor’s voice was plain, but even he didn’t know quite what for. So have Sif forgive him for whatever offense he had done her, or to have Jane away from Loki, or to have her back in his arms? He had never felt his heart pulled so many ways, and it hurt him in a way that battle and feasting and war games never had.

               “Do you really believe that William is all bad?” Frigga asked suddenly, diverting Thor’s train of thought from Sif and Jane, their faces blurring in his mind’s eye.

               He blinked. Frigga stood with one hand on the back of the divan, thoughtful eyes turned to pierce him.

               “ _Loki_ is a danger to every mortal on Midgard; we already know that.”

               “And you believe that he would hurt Jane?”

               “What is there to stop him?” Thor yelled, fist slamming into the wall. “She cannot be safe in his presence!”

“Did you remember nothing of what you read?” Frigga asked, face a mask of disappointment.

               “I do not understand-”

               “All you can think about Loki with Jane, but don’t you remember reading about _William_?” His furrowed brow persisting, Frigga stood, walked over to the other side of the studio, and pulled the cloth away from three separate paintings so that the evening sun could illuminate them.

               Each was a picture of Loki, but as he was on Midgard now- with the golden hair and laughing eyes of William, and in each he was surrounded by others. The first, a Christmas tree stood warmed by a roaring fireplace surrounded by people; William, yes, but also two young women who looked very much like him, and whose painted eyes swam with affection. Next was an old man and woman holding hands on a park bench, speaking to their son; the last large a theatre and in the center William dressed in livery worthy of Asgard, as a crowd of shadows stood in applause.

               They were beautiful, as detailed as the photographs Thor had seen on Midgard, but he was struggling to see anything but Loki and Jane’s hands touching as they exchanged “numbers.”

               “He has two sisters, Thor, did you remember that?” Numbly the golden prince shook his head. Frigga continued. “And a mother and father who still live, who love him with all their hearts. He has honest dreams and listens to the counsel of the wise, holds his family close and wears his heart on his sleeve. You would be hard-pressed to find a more worthy mortal of holding your beloved’s hand.”

               “So I am to let it continue, then?” Thor burst out, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Stand idly by while he- while he…”

               Frigga hadn’t heard her son stutter in almost a hundred years. It tugged at her heart, and her hands, and she floated over to lay them against his warm cheeks. When had he grown so tall?

               In her mind’s eye he was still the little boy chasing his brother, or carrying weapons much too large for him, boasting that one day he would be just like his father…

               It was a gift that Thor did not feel the small tremors in her hands, his gaze too stricken by the portraits to notice much else.

               “I am asking you to trust the man your brother is becoming,” she urged, leading his eyes to hers. “And, perhaps, to look into yourself, at the man you have become.”

               “I fear I have not become someone you would be proud of,” he said suddenly, gaze falling to the floor as he exhaled a shaky breath, body shaking like the shuddering flank of a horse pushed too far, too fast.

               Rather than contradict him, Frigga allowed the self-inflicted wound to his pride and merely waited patiently. Sighing, Thor leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, long blonde hair waving like a curtain around her face. His eyes drifted shut.

               After perhaps a minute of them standing like that, Thor’s lips moved, and Frigga heart the whispered words that came from the depths of her son’s heart.

               “I gave Jane an oath, mother. Sealed with a kiss and a promise to return to her, before I came back to Asgard to stop Loki,” he began. “With the Bifrost open I could not, but then Father used his magic to transport me to Midgard and… I told myself that Loki was the first priority- he would have destroyed the entire realm. There was time, though, which I could have taken to see her, to assure her that I was safe and had kept my promise.”

               Layering a hand over hers, Thor looked into his mother’s eyes, allowing her to see the guilt and shame written in his own.

               “I did not, still have not, and since Loki left and I began to find solace in Sif’s presence the weight of that vow leaves me no peace.”

               It was there with them, in the room, sitting on Thor’s shoulder like a stone roped to his back. Frigga felt it in her own spine, yet had also seen genuine happiness return to Thor’s eyes after he and Sif spent a day in the fields, riding, racing, sparring, until he was weary and grinning broadly.

               “Perhaps you have not wanted to consider this… did you love her?” Frigga asked, causing Thor’s hand to drop abruptly as he stepped away from her.

               “At the time?” This time he did not look away. “I like to think I did, but the truth is I am not certain.”

               “And for that you fear the promise you made her.”

               “Yes.”

               “Then consider how you felt when you first saw her on Midgard, when you left her, and when you saw her again with another man. I cannot make such decisions for you, Thor, but know that I have faith you will do the right thing, and will always be proud of you.” Taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly, Frigga gave her son a smile. “Perhaps, seeing the rest of the story will help your decision.”

               “What?” Thor’s brow furrowed, jaw working to contain the anger slowly welling up, without sense or reason, but there nonetheless.

               “You only read a part, and time on Midgard still passes quickly, even with the order of things restored. I have not received his next scroll yet, so I presume William’s life persists in an interesting way.”

               Thor nodded jerkily and squeezed her hand back, taking comfort in her presence if not her words.

               “Thank you for your counsel, mother.”

               “I am always here for my sons, Thor.”

               Exiting her chambers, the golden prince again felt the urge to break something, despite his mother’s wisdom and patience with him. She helped, and yet… there were some problems only a sword could solve. Perhaps the sweat and blood of the practice field, and the drum of sword on wood, would clear his mind.

               He wasn’t ready to see Heimdall. He wasn’t sure he ever would be.

*

Moonlight filtered through the wafting curtains in Thor’s rooms, washing them with silver- too much a reminder of Loki, as Thor tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He had never been prone to reminiscing, or truly observing his surroundings before his banishment and Loki’s betrayal.

               Now he was older, and wiser for the trauma, the knowledge that the balance of things hung on the knife-edge of sanity not reassuring to him. Still, as he lay in the large bed Sif’s hurt eyes haunted him, and his last kiss to Jane played in his mind over and over, until the ache in his chest had neither beginning nor end and he couldn’t remember why he loved Jane- until he remembered her warm hand in his, her boundless enthusiasm for knowledge, and how extraordinary her eyes were the first time he woke up on Midgard with her hovering above him, an angel silhouetted by light.

               Alternately, he couldn’t understand where his feelings for Sif had come from, and whether or not she had always looked at him the way she had the past weeks, and he had just been too caught up with himself to notice.

               _How did Loki do it?_ He wondered, eyes wandering across his silvered room, the night breeze sending goosebumps up on his arms. _Being so aware of everything, all the time, even your own feelings… it’s no wonder he…_

Those were not good thoughts. Ever.

               Groaning, Thor pulled himself out of bed, throwing back the cover to reveal nothing but his soft drawstring pants, bare chest practically gleaming in the moonlight. It seemed as though his nights wouldn’t follow the pattern of his days after all; wisdom and advice at every turn, and his crippling inability to bring himself to follow any of it. 

               _Not this time._

Determinedly he pulled on a crimson tunic and leather pants, fastening the clasps on his boots and throwing on a dark cloak to ward off the chill. Loki wasn’t the only one who could be stealthy _and_ practical.

 In the winding hallways some torches hung dark and forlorn, shadows clinging to them like the dancing flames on every other scone, which threw Thor’s own massive shadow onto shining golden walls. When he passed the entrance to the crypt his gaze no longer lingered there, nor did he feel the customary chill- nothing was there for him anymore, Loki’s empty shell of a body no longer holding solace or closure. Now he tracked his brother’s living heart, and the only eyes that could find him amidst the chaotic swirling stars.

               Heimdall stood, ever watchful, ever tireless, on his golden perch, but for once looked surprised to see Thor. His massive head turning to regard the shadow-clad prince, he nodded once in respect, eyes curious.

               “When you did not come at your mother’s advice, I believe you would not at all,” He said simply, holding out a hand. “But you seek your mortal; love is tireless indeed.”

               “Perhaps not love.” As soon as the words left his mouth Thor knew it was true, his mother’s advice echoing in his ears, and it hurt as once again guilt settled on his back.

               “Yet it is her you seek?”

               “Yes.” Reluctantly Thor reached out his hand, and allowed his fingertips to rest on Heimdall’s hand. At once his spirit saw with the golden gatekeeper’s eyes, heard with his ears, and in the middle of a spinning vastness of the universe he honed in on a single soul, bright and flaring with life- with joy, without him.

               _Jane put the cell phone down, a horrified look on her face, but when she turned to Darcy the intern merely laughed. Sun slanted through the windows of the small lab-apartment, and in the kitchen an older man who looked very much like Jane prepared some sort of sustenance for the noonday meal._

 _“You look_ terrified _,” Darcy giggled, “But you still said_ yes _!”_

_“I just didn’t want to be rude,” Jane mumbled, casting the phone an angry look before slinking into the living room, where an older woman sat comfortably on the couch, managing to look regal and at ease. Her short shock of red hair floated around her face, the way she looked at her daughter both amused and full of love._

_“It’s a date, dear- not an execution,” She laughed, and her face looked exactly like Jane’s with humor written on it. “Besides, he seemed like a very nice young man. I think he’ll be good for you.”_

_“Why is everyone obsessed with my dating life?” Jane exclaimed, turning desperately to her father, who was preparing to bite into a delectable-looking sandwich._

_“Probably because it was nonexistent until you-know-who came along,” Darcy coughed exaggeratedly, causing Jane to scowl._

_“Young people’s obsession with_ always _having a significant other these days is ridiculous, but we’ve been worried about you for too long not to think that it might help,” her father said pointedly, spectacles falling to the bridge of his nose._

 _“Great, my parents and best friend have organized a dating-intervention. That’s_ completely _normal,” Jane huffed, but she fell onto the couch next to her mother anyway and allowed the older woman to pat her knee reassuringly._

_“Don’t worry, dear. You still have-” Jane’s mother glanced at Darcy, who held up her watch, “-six hours until he arrives. Perhaps you and Darcy want to go shopping beforehand?”_

_“What do you mean? I have plenty of stuff to wear!” Jane huffed._

_“I don’t think sweatpants and ‘Astrology Nerd’ sweatshirts are allowed in fancy restaurants, Jane,” Darcy countered, already slinging on her coat. “Don’t wait up, Mrs. F.”_

_“Have fun, girls.” Mrs. Foster waved, and then returned to her book._

As he blindly watched Jane and Darcy navigate the streets of London boutiques, Thor dwelled on the encounter he had just seen- and the equal mix of amusement and grief it brought him. He hadn’t realized before now exactly how badly Jane was affected by him leaving, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. But it was amusing, seeing Darcy, as loyal as ever, and seeing Jane’s parents for the first time. Her father seemed like a jovial man, not prone to wasting energy on unnecessary worrying, and her mother reminded him of Frigga.

               Less than an hour passed for him, but on Midgard it had been almost six, and the clocks in the apartment all glowed with “6:30,” in the fashion of Midgardian time. When Jane emerged from a room in the apartment she was wearing a simple sleeveless navy dress that stopped just above her knees, but complimented her figure perfectly. Teardrop earrings flashed from her ears like stars when she turned her head, silky brown hair falling to her shoulders in a gently waving river.

               Thor’s breath hitched in his chest just as the doorbell rang.

               _Jane fidgeted with the bottom of her dress nervously, swallowing hard when she went to open the door. Darcy and her parents quickly disappeared, and Jane was left, frighteningly, all alone in front of William. He had also opted for the simple-yet-classy approach, with black dress pants and shoes and a simple white button up shirt that was rolled up neatly past his elbows, a simple black jacket thrown on over it. He smiled broadly when he saw her, voice smooth as he told her she looked beautiful._

_Blushing fiercely, Jane reached to grab her coat before taking his offered arm and following him out the door._

Barely ten minutes in and Thor already could not stand to watch, red covering his vision as his concentration wavered and all he could focus on was every time William opened a door for her, hand hovering courteously just above the skin of her lower back, always letting her go first. Jane even laughed at something he whispered in her ear when they stepped out of the cab, Jane looking considerably more at ease than she had when he first came to get her. When he took her jacket and pulled her chair out for her, and she smiled at him hesitantly, Thor couldn’t take anymore.

               As if sensing his prince’s discomfort, Heimdall broke the connection, pointedly ignoring Thor while he steamed.

               By the standards of Midgardian etiquette, Jane was being treated the way she should have been, and William was nothing if not polite, but it still hurt seeing her enjoy herself without him. Instantly Thor shut down those thoughts- they were childish, selfish. He should be happy for her.

               But he could not be, even with his mother’s voice telling him that he was the one who left her.

*

William had been impossibly perfect from the moment he opened the door, so much the gentleman that Jane couldn’t believe he hadn’t jumped straight out of a Disney movie, and found herself expecting, stupidly, to find a white horse instead of a cab waiting to take them to dinner.

               As if that wasn’t it, they went to a restaurant that screamed money, but not the pretentious kind that came in diamond necklaces and full-length gowns. In the candlelight William’s hair practically glowed, and as other couples chatted amicably around them, waiters with outstanding posture taking orders, their uniforms matching the understated black and white theme, Jane found herself distracted by the graceful movement of William’s long, delicate fingers.

               Swallowing, she picked up her menu after him and stared at the myriad of choices for the main course- all five of them- mind buzzing uncomfortably. Without having to look at him she calmed down some, her panic at having no idea what to do abating when no longer confronted with having to make conversation.

               Apparently, she let herself calm down a little too much, because what only seemed like a minute to her of blank staring was actually almost ten, as the napkin slid to her side of the table dutifully noted: “7:12, hello.”

               Eyes widening in panic, Jane put her menu down, trying not to show the trembling in her hands. William smiled reassuringly at her from across the table, but his brow was furrowed and he looked concerned.

               Jane sighed quietly.

               “You’re right,” William said suddenly, leaning across the table with a frown. He looked at their surroundings in disappointment, and then back at Jane.

               “I- what?”

               “This place isn’t very fun at all. I’m sorry for dragging you here.” Stunned by the sincere apology, as if he had just spilled something on her or accidently tripped someone, Jane could do nothing but stare.

               “But, I’d like to make it up to you- would you like to do something fun?” That smile was back- sunny, hopeful, impossible bright, as if all of the warm feelings associated with home, chocolate, love, fuzzy things, were contained in it.

               Jane’s stomach erupted in butterflies, but she managed to get her voice under control.

               “Erm… like what?”

               “Well, good food, first- you must be starving. There’s a wonderful café down the road that makes the best Panini you’ll ever taste. And then… how do you feel about the stars?”

               It was such a sudden question, but for the first time that night Jane didn’t have to flounder around for something to say.

               “They’re sort of my entire career, so…”

               “Do you ever get tired of seeing them all the time, then?”

               “Never.” Her smile matched his; merely thinking about the night sky, the push and pull of celestial bodies, the complicated equations and theories that had guided her whole live, sent a small thrill through her.

               “Neither do I. Perhaps the London Observatory and Planetarium is a more appropriate place for us tonight, then.”

*

It turned out, William loved the stars almost as much as Jane did, but in a way that was completely foreign to her. As they walked through the long hallway of art depicting the stars and vastness of their galaxy, each piece different, unique, and devastatingly beautiful in an abstract way Jane’s data never could be, Jane was treated to the long, epic narrative of her life’s work, only without so many numbers.

               “Oh, Draco!” he exclaimed, pointing excitedly to the dragon constellation rendered artfully in greens and blues of oil paint on the canvas to their left. “So many people only think of dragons when they see him, but really the story is so fascinating- Hercules, son of Zeus, had to steal a golden apple from an enchanted garden and this constellation is named after Ladon, the serpent in charge of guarding the tree. A winding, wandering wrym with razor teeth that rip a demigod in two.”

               “Wow,” Jane whispered. All she had thought when she saw the painting was that it was a circumpolar constellation- able to be seen all year round- and held the Cat’s Eye Nebula, one of her favorites. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, even more fiercely than when he had held her hand to help her into the cab, or brought her food at the delightful café they went too after the failed restaurant.

               Gesturing to a picture on the opposite wall ahead of them, to the constellation Cassiopeia, Jane was able to draw from William another smile. Perhaps it was how addicting bright they were, but every time she could get him to smile it pushed her lingering gloom further and further into the recesses of her mind, making way for the sun.

               “Cassiopeia, wife of King Cepheus, mother of Andromeda,” he whispered excitedly, eyes drinking up every brushstroke. “She was incredibly beautiful, but prideful. In fact, she bragged so often that she and her daughter were fairer than the Nereids- sea nymphs, subjects of Poseidon- that the sea god sent a monster to Cepheus' land and forced him to sacrifice his daughter to it, otherwise his entire kingdom would be destroyed in fire and earthquakes. Of course, just before the monster ate the princess, Perseus saved her. Some legends say that Cassiopeia was chained into the sky to remind others not to be so boastful.”

               “That’s incredible,” Jane said, looking at the cluster of stars in a new light. To her, it was a northern circumpolar constellation, with an M52 cluster on its western edge and several nebulae within it, and the galaxy NGC 185. It wasn’t strictly astrophysicist stuff, but before she discovered that career track astrology had held immense wonder for her.

               “I’m sorry, I must be boring you terribly,” he said, glancing at her sheepishly. Ahead of them the opening to the Imax theatre loomed, giant and dark- they had decided to give the new combination Imax-planetarium a try for the evening special of some new space documentary.

               “No- I think it’s interesting. I never really thought about them as stories before,” Jane said.

               “Well, then, I think it’s your turn to regale me with your substantial knowledge,” he prodded, steering her to the last picture in the hall- Orion.

               Jane knew a lot about that particular cluster, but something in her repelled the idea of talking when she could merely listen to him. Still, they had three minutes before the film started and William looked at her eagerly.

               “Well, there are seven main stars, mostly hot blue supergiants, and the stars forming Orion’s belt and sword form the Orion OB1 Association. The star Alnilam, 1,359 light years away, is the farthest away of all of them, but has the fourth lowest apparent magnitude.” Jane hadn’t studied Orion extensively, so the facts were merely leftovers from her PhD studies, but a warm glow started to spread through her at William’s impressed expression.

               “It’s fascinating, it’s it?” he whispered, looking at her, “How something as simple and complex as a star can have so many meanings to different people?”

               “Your stories were wonderful,” Jane admitted.

               “Good for explaining the romanticism of the sky, perhaps, but you actually get to know them. Celestial bodies whirling overhead, watching the human race for thousands of years, and you study what makes them tick.”

               Flattered, Jane glanced at the time stamped on top of the theatre doors and dared to put a hand on his arm, guiding them forward.    

               “Not nearly as eloquently as you,” she countered.

               “So says the nightingale to the crow.”

               Stunned by the smooth compliment, Jane merely smiled, blushed, and proceeded to hide behind her hair.

               “W-we should probably go in, now,” she stammered, and they proceeded into the dark, William’s hand hovering over the small of her back, and her painfully aware of his close they were, how close they would be, when she saw that the London Observatory and Planetarium had opted not for regular theatre seats, but cushioned, reclining beanbags that could stretch all the way back, and give viewers a full, uninterrupted picture of the night sky.

*

Carcasses of his enemies littered the ground, their fractured bodies strewn across the dirt training field as the warrior himself looked upon them, panting, sweat running down his body, with not a grin of triumph, but a scowl. Their end had no joy for him, though the hours spent hacking away at them with the sharpened sword clasped in his hands had been meant to alleviate the heavy burden of his heart.

               Thor collapsed onto his knees in the middle of the sea of wrecked wooden practice dummies, enchanted to fight and enchanted to repair themselves, but the splinters in his bloody hands from where a sword simply hadn’t been destruction enough were proof that no magic could put these artificial foes back together again.

               _He smiled broadly when he saw her, voice smooth as he told her she looked beautiful._

Jane in her dress, taking William’s hand, tormented him. His mother’s advice, Heimdall’s monotone voice, the feel of a scroll crumpling in his hand.

               _Voice smooth as he told her she looked beautiful._

_Told her she looked beautiful._

Jane _looked beautiful._

“ _AAAAAARRRRGGGH!”_ Bellowing, Thor stood and threw the sword across the field, and did not pay attention to where it landed. There was nothing left to hit, destroy, rip down to rubble with his bare, bloody hands. He was all alone in the dark, as he had been for hours, and after kicking dummy scraps and screaming for a short while, he collapsed again, this time the fight drained out of him for good.

               But anger still bubbled in the recesses of his mind, so he buried his face in his hands and sighed. Waited for something to tell him what he felt, because he already knew, and somehow couldn’t convince himself of it.

               It wasn’t for some time that he noticed the soft sound of rustle wood, or the gentle clink of metal on metal. Lifting his head the lean silhouette in front of him took for- Sif, in her men’s nightclothes with a thick cloak hastily thrown over her shoulders, the metal hoops fashioned with flexible hinges between them that held up her hair tapping together softly in the breeze.

               “Sif,” Thor swallowed, throat dry. Suddenly he was aware of how ridiculous he must look- taking on an army of puppets in the middle of the night, in nothing but his white nightclothes. “What are you doing here?”

               “I heard you- I’m surprised the rest of the palace didn’t,” she smirked, but the expression was empty as she held out a hand. Thor licked his lips and wrapped his fingers around her forearm, allowing her to help haul him to his feet. It seemed as though he saw her strength for the first time as she effortlessly drew him up, even though he was inches taller than her.

               “I know you’re worried about Loki,” she whispered, frowning. When her hand dropped from his as soon as Thor standing, he felt a rush of displeasure which her mention of Loki only deepened. “But now that he is in our time, surely he will return soon.”

               “It is not Loki…” Her eyes narrowed when his voice trailed off, but she said nothing. Patient, in all except battle. “It is Jane, that worries me.”

               Beneath the cloak her shoulders stiffened, jaw tightening, and she nodded once, quickly. Even in the dark Thor could see the darkness cloud over her green eyes.

               “Perhaps speaking about it will help,” she suggested. “Fighting certainly didn’t.”

               “Heimdall showed me Midgard, and Jane was… with Loki. William.” Her eyebrows shot up at his words, choked out past unyielding lips, and silence settled over them like a shroud.

               At last, war-calloused fingers rubbing the edges of her cloak, Sif spoke.

               “Then she is a fool, and Midgard has made Loki soft,” she said firmly, eyes flickering to his face. For a moment Thor didn’t know what to say, he was so stunned- Sif was always one to speak her mind, but this… this was not what he had expected her to say.

               “I-I do not understand…?” This time he didn’t miss the corner of her mouth that shot up, and when he frowned she turned her back on him, shoulders shaking. Worry panged through him, and he set a hand on her shoulder.

               “Sif? I am sorry, I know that hearing about Jane earlier today upset you- I didn’t mean-” And then, when she opened her mouth, he realized that she was _laughing._

Softly, and attempting to stop, but what twisted her face was not anger or sadness, but laughter. The apology was clear in her eyes, yet she appeared unable to keep a small smile from her face.

               “I’m s-so sorry, Thor, but… earlier, when you mentioned them meeting, I hadn’t imagined… the idea, it’s just too- the idea of _Loki,_ on a _date_ , with your mortal!” Her arms wrapped around her stomach, and she bit her lip to stop herself.

               Then, to her ultimate surprise, Thor began to laugh with her. Before now all he had felt was anger and jealousy, but Midgard _had_ been changing Loki, as strange as the idea was, and laughing about the possible antics of William on a date with Jane seemed, amazingly, infinitely more natural than slaughtering pretend foes over it.

               Their laughs, his booming and merry, hers regal and fierce at the same time, echoed across the field without regard to who heard them. In the moonlight Sif’s hair glowed like ebony, and silver filled her green eyes. Nightcloths or not, she had never looked more beautiful for him, especially with a smile on her face. When was the last time he had seen her happy, truly, outside of battle?

               _Yesterday,_ a small voice whispered, _before you read the scroll. She looked like that- looking at you._

Grabbing her arm, Thor lowered his head, pulled her to him, and kissed her.

               So she punched him in the jaw.

               Landing on the ground with a _thud,_ Thor clutched his aching mouth and stared at Sif in amazement. She looked horrified, and positively petrified, but there was venom in her voice when she spoke down to him.

               “Thor Odinson, unless that truly meant something, I will curse you to the pits of helheim,” she snarled, fists clenched, eyes hurt, voice promising more violence.

               “I- I confess, I only wanted to see what it was like,” Thor whispered, and a small, strangled sound came from Sif’s throat. Quickly he hauled himself up and approached her. “And nothing, _nothing,_ Sif, has ever felt more right.”

               She smiled like it was the last thing in the world she had expected to do, and warm filled Thor’s chest. This was how she should look all the time- to think that he may have unintentionally been the cause of any pain of hers physically made him ill.

               “Lady Sif,” he whispered, reaching to gently press his hands to her cheeks, “May I kiss you?”

               A desperate, gasping laugh burst from her mouth as she pressed herself against him, whispered against him a small, perfect, “ _Yes._ ”

So his sweat and blood streaked her cloak, but she didn’t care, and her fingernails dug gently into the skin of his neck, but he didn’t notice, and even the stars smiled as two warring spirits finally, _finally,_ made peace.

*

Rain was pounding on the sidewalk when they ran out, hands clasped, laughing so hard at William’s impersonation of the narrator of the Imax it took a moment for William to realize that his date was getting wet. Apologizing profusely, he situated her under the awning and raced back inside for an umbrella. For her part, Jane still felt giddy after being so close to him in the cushioned seats of the planetarium, the feel of his warm hand holding hers.

Stepping gingerly out from under the awning, Jane flinched at the cold droplets as they ran down her hair and into her shoes, but after a moment the cold jolt to her system woke her. Looking around with bright, aware eyes, she saw little moments from the date all around her, covered in the hazy warm glow of being with William; the warmth of his hands as he lowered her into the multiple taxis they’d taken that night, his excitement in regaling her with the legends around stars, his genuine interest in her work and the way, in the dark of the Imax, they had both moved slowly and steadily closer, until her head was on his chest and his hands laced through hers, their eyes staring up at the screen as it whizzed constellations over their heads. Moreover, she realized that her heart still hadn’t calmed down. It thrummed in her chest like the pounding feet of a rabbit, practically bursting through her skin when she turned to see William behind her, umbrella from the gift store clasped in one hand.

When he opened it smoothly and put it over her before joining her under it at a respectable distance, Jane admitted painfully that tonight, she had been genuinely happy for the first time since Thor left.

               “Jane?” William asked gently, looking at her in concern. “You’re soaking wet.”

               “Oh, um… yeah, I guess I am,” she laughed suddenly, unable to stop herself. “And you even bought an umbrella… I’m so sorry.”

               “It’s not really useful if you’ve already decided to catch hypothermia,” he said, and with a swoop let the umbrella fall behind them, inviting the rain into his fine clothes as well as Jane’s. “I might as well join you.”

               “I like the rain. You can see the stars more…” Jane craned her head back to look at the sky, the rain giving the constellations a shimmery, glittering quality. Each time rain hit near her eyes she flinches, water catching on her eyelashes like little stars had decided to coalesce around her eyes.

               “The jewels of heaven’s treasure chest,” William whispered absently, following her gaze up. At the remark Jane’s eyes flicked to his face, brow furrowed even as her heart warmed to him. It was comments like that, almost wishful, that struck her again and again- gave her a glimpse at the star-studded soul beneath the sunny exterior.

               “William?” Jane said, taking a deep breath to keep a tremble from her voice. “I-I had a lot of fun tonight. More fun that I’ve had in longer than I like to admit.”

               “Well, then I feel better saying that I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since I can’t remember when.” When he reached to take her hand, their fingers collapsing in on each other and entwining, creating a water-tight space between them, courage surged through Jane. William had come into her life too suddenly for her to think, but she was certain of how she felt, understood what he meant when he told her, that night outside the pub, that he wanted to get to know her.

               She wanted to know him, too. Know the man who was a perfect example of chivalry and manners not being dead, of the mythology and romance behind the stars, of the boundless enthusiasm life could present one, if one was open to it.

               When he leaned down, eyes asking silently, she stood up on tiptoe and allowed him to kiss her.

               In the rain, beneath the night sky, both of them shivering and cold but warmed, for a moment, by the mere presence of the other.


	7. Chapter 7

It hurt Thor to say goodnight to Sif outside of the palace, knowing that it would be improper for her to join him within, even if it was only to sleep knowing she was near. Still, when he kissed her for the fifteenth time since they had left the training field it was a sensation more powerful than the rush of battle, the heat of a good drink, the lightness of a bawdy drinking song, which rocked through him.

               He would never tell her, but he wondered how he had gone without knowing she was so beautiful, so strong, so honest, and so brave for so long, even though they had been shield companions for nigh on three hundred years. Jane still sat in the back of his mind, of course, but now it was with hope that she would understand, when he next saw her. There was also the sneaking suspicion that his mother had been hiding something when he last spoke to her; perhaps, now that he had come to the end she had obviously desired, she would confide in him.

               “Until morning, my lady,” he whispered, and she curtseyed mockingly.

               “Lady, never!” she exclaimed, though her hands caressed his cheeks. “Warrior, only. You must promise never to call me lady, as long as I am your sworn sword.”

               “You have my word; I shall honor your status as the fiercest shield-maiden in Asgard and never again kiss your hand. Nor shall I ask for you at dances, and will warn all the men- beware Sif, sword of the Prince, companion of the Warriors Three, for she is no lady, but a lioness.”

               Any objections Sif had to his teasing stopped at the last words, and though she punched him- hard- on the shoulder, her eyes were soft.

               “I don’t expect anything now,” she said, stepping away, “I know that this must complicate many things for you. All I ask is that you take enough time to find your own mind before visiting me again; when you are sure.”

               “What if I have already made my choice, for better or for worse?” Thor pressed, hurt that she still didn’t trust him. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have realized that she still had almost no reason to.

               “I- I care for you, have cared for you, more deeply than I care to admit, for longer than I can say. Only time can assure me that you feel the same. In the meantime…” Before he could react she jumped forward, kissed him, and whirled away, striding across the bridge away from the palace and towards the barracks. “Think of me. If I still consume your thoughts by morning, return.”

               Thor stood for a few moments, struck, and watched her retreating silhouette. Going back to his cold bed did not sit well with him, but he knew with absolute certainty that he would dream of her tonight. In the morning he would go to her, and pledge himself to a courtship lasting as long as she wished. He never was one for patience.

               Turning and heading within the palace, moonlight chasing him with long shadows between silver arcs thrown across the floors, he smiled. Tonight would be lonely, but tomorrow, and all the days after, neither he nor Sif would ever need to face such an empty night again.

*

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, leaning against the rough wood door of the barracks built beside the palace, where the guards rested and armor was stored between shifts and leaves. Fires crackled in braziers scattered across the open floor of the main room, and above footsteps creaked on the walkways, hands gripping the railing as they spoke down to their comrades.

               “What brings the Lady Sif to our little den of debauchery tonight?” A voice drawled from across the room. Fandral sat on one of the wall benches, a woman on each leg, the firelight gilding his already fair hair.

               “It isn’t often you bother with this place.” Volstagg commented between bites of mutton, a mug of ale in his other hand.

                Hogunn merely gave her a level, but curious look, and she understood why. Not only did the white of her nightclothes show whenever her thick blue cloak rustled, but she had neither armor stored here nor a job with the palace watch. The barracks were only a temporary reprieve some nights when she was too tired to return to her own home within the lower city, and tonight had not been one of those nights.

               The other guards there knew better than to talk to her, or attempt anything unsavory- one had tried, when she first chose a warrior’s path, and her steel had been enough to ensure he never bothered an unwilling woman again. Now they regarded her with respect and careful nods- she was a lioness in a den of wolves, and so they kept their distance when not on the field of battle as shield-fellows.

               Drawing her cloak further around her and settling onto the bench next to Hogunn, Sif stared at the flames, recalling Thor’s face when she turned away. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would look at her that way.

               “Cat got your tongue, Sif?” Fandral joked, but he gently nudged the women away from him and gestured them to the door. One of them looked at Sif sourly before leaving, the other merely whispered a few words in Fandral’s ear, gave him a kiss, and sauntered out contentedly.

               “I-”

               “Look how she blushes! Volstagg, set aside your mead- I think something’s struck our Sif and it isn’t some stray arrow!” Fandral crowed, scooting closer to meet her eyes across the fire, a grin splitting his face. Swallowing, Sif struggled to control her blush.

               “You’ve come here in your nightclothes blushing like a maid- ‘tis a story to be enjoyed with a good drink!” Their rotund friend commented jovially, taking another sip. Out of the corner of her eye Sif saw Hogunn bend down minutely, angling his body so as to better hear her.

Laughing softly, she reached out her hands to warm them over the brazier and allowed her eyes to wander around the large room, up to the catwalks and animal furs covering door openings, weapons hung and polished armor set on the walls. It was a much more rustic setting than the gleaming palace and orderly cityscape, but it suited the rough soldiers and palace guards well enough.

               “I’m afraid you’ll now have to limit your comments on my maidenhood, Volstagg,” she said enigmatically, smiling softly. It was without purpose that she had initially set towards the barracks, but now she knew that the company of her friends was what she needed most to clear her head, and was looking forward to seeing their surprise when she told them of Thor’s promise. The last thing they would expect was a prince and a shield-maiden, especially since she had lost her only redeeming feature- her long hair which had been like a river of gold- to one of Loki’s pranks when they were still young. Black hair and affinity for a sword had been enough to ensure she die an old maid.

               “And why is that?” Fandral waggled his eyes suggestively and Sif snorted.

               “Let us say that if Thor comes knocking at dawn, I can be considered a courted women.” Unable to help the grin that slid across her face at Fandral’s dumbstruck expression, Sif casually took a sip of Volstagg’s mead- he, too, was staring too much to notice the mug leave his hand.

               “Do not look so surprised, friends,” Hogunn rumbled, giving Sif a nod. “Thor has been a fool not to approach her sooner.”

               This took Sif by surprise, and she took in Hogunn’s subtle smile with a warm feeling creeping into her chest.

               “It had been obvious for centuries where your affections lay, and he took his time returning them,” Hogunn shrugged. At once the comment stung and soothed Sif, and it seemed to jolt Volstagg and Fandral out of their stupors.

               “B-but what of the lady Jane?” Fandral gaped- Sif was beautiful, but he couldn’t comprehend Thor leaving the petit brunette beauty of Midgard for fierce, tall, scary Sif.

               “It was only three days,” Volstagg offered helpfully. “Perhaps it was not love, after all.”

               “That is what he claims,” Sif whispered as she watched the flames. “I will not know for sure until morning.”

               “Then rest here- dawn is not far off,” Hogunn said, gesturing to the doorway to their left which was obscured by a long flap of sewn leather.

               “Good night,” Sif said, standing and sweeping to the room. Inside a cot would be waiting, covered in quits and pelts, and she could sleep for the few hours of starlight that remained. Her friends could talk idly by the fire, and speculate all they wished without her presence hovering over them like a shadow. She didn’t mind- she was just as surprised herself, but her heart told her that it wouldn’t be mere gossip for long. Though her head doubted, her heart was certain, as her head hit the pillow in the small, cave-like room, that tomorrow she would officially have captured the heart of the prince of Asgard. And more than that, a man she trusted, and loved, and had known from childhood- she would follow him into any battle. Hopefully, she would be able to follow him into bed, as well.

*

“We wanted you to make your own choice, Thor,” Frigga said, brow furrowing in concern. “We never wanted to pressure you into doing something that made you unhappy.”

               “But you desired me to fall in love with Sif,” he countered, looking similarly unhappy.

               Sighing, Frigga put aside her brush and looked at her son, cursing herself. It had never been her intention to make him think they had always wanted him to choose Sif, to feel as though he had been manipulated, or to think that his parents’ preference should influence his decision.

               “I cannot deny that we did- we saw it as best for the kingdom, and we believed you would be happy with her. You must understand, Thor, we could not see a future with the mortal on a throne- even if we made her one of us-, but we always wanted the choice to be yours,” she whispered, taking his hands in hers. “I’m so sorry if I ever made you think that what we thought was more important than what your heart told you.”

               Turning away, Thor scowled at the floor, and Frigga’s heart dropped. The conversation had gone well enough when he came to her that morning, declaring that he was in love with the Lady Sif and meant to prove it to her before the sun had reached its peak. As soon as she congratulated him on following his heart, however, he had grown confused, and asked if that was truly all it ever was. Him “following his heart.”

               She hadn’t realized just how much she and Odin had insinuated their preference for Sif, or that Thor had felt equal pressure to please them as well as himself. From there, the conversation had turned south, and she wondered how she could reconcile her son with his choice of lady-loves.

               “Thor, do you love her, truly?” Frigga asked solemnly.

               “With all my heart.”

               “Does knowing that your father and I have approved of such a match from the beginning change that feeling?” Pressing, she squeezed his hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.

               “No.”

               “Then I have something to show you- perhaps you will forgive us for our favoritism,” she said, almost sadly, standing up and going over to the canvases piled in one corner, covered in cloth. “Forgive me for not sharing these with you sooner- at the time, I believed that you were better not knowing. I still do; I only hope you can understand why.”

               Beneath her gentle hands the fabric fell away, floating to the floor in a ripple of matter somewhere between water and wind, and settling on the floor in a pool beneath the procession of paintings. There were perhaps twenty in all which were uncovered, but others similarly concealed graced the rest of the room. Eyes wandering over what his mother had revealed to him, it was not hard for Thor to guess what secrets the others hid.

               Watching his face carefully as he took in scene after scene of Loki in his various mortal forms, confronted with Jane in historically varying habits, Frigga saw the rush of emotions play out across his features in rapid succession before settling. Shock, confusion, disbelief, horror, anger…. Resignation. His hands, formerly curled into fists, loosened, and carefully- in a gesture very reminiscent of his brother- he spread his fingers across his legs, regarding each one carefully before looking back at his mother.

               “I noted the presence of a woman in his life,” he whispered, eyes flicking to a picture of Loki and Jane dressed in the garb of Midgard’s fifteenth century, hands clasped beneath the stained glass of a magnificent church. Sunlight filtered through the shards of multicolored glass to spill a prism across their forms, bathing them in magnificence and an almost ethereal glow. “Each time I read the scrolls, but I never dreamed…”

               “She has always been there; a muse, a stranger, a companion, a queen… a better half,” Frigga explained, and for the longest time Thor did nothing but look at the paintings. Another showed Jane dressed in royal raiment, an ermine cloak thrown over her shoulders as she was caught mid-motion of rising from a throne. One hand gripped her skirts, the other reached for that of the man who stood to the right of the throne in rich, but simpler garb. It was undeniably Loki, but with a softer face, and spectacles, brown hair which fell fussily over his forehead. As their fingers touched, Frigga’s delicate brushstrokes caught perfectly the turn of his lips into a smile.

               “To Loki,” Thor said, but not flatly, or with bitterness. Rather, he now looked upon the paintings with interest and a touch of concern. “Is it true then, mother?”

               “Is what true?” Surprise colored her voice, and he smiled softly.

               “Long have I heard rumors among the court of your ability of foresight. The Norns took father’s eye for wisdom- what did you trade them?” His words were an obvious jest, but held an undercurrent of seriousness that gripped Frigga.

               “Your father accepted the loss of an eye in battle for wisdom, yes, but rumors are rumors, Thor. The universe and its maker work in mysterious ways- I have merely sought to understand the information given to us.”

               Thor shook his head, ran a hand through his hair across his face, and sighed deeply.

               “Sif was amused by the prospect of Loki and Jane Foster, and I admit at the time I agreed, but… hundreds of years, mother, of _them_? I do not understand how they, of all people, could be destined for each other.”

               “Did you know, Thor, that before your banishment, your father and I had found a woman willing to marry him?” Frigga asked, lowering herself onto the divan across from him and smiling at Thor’s dumbstruck look.

               “Really?”

               “Yes. Her family agreed to the match, and although she was terrified at first, I did everything I could to assure her of his kindness. She herself was a very gentle soul, and I think she would have done him good.  As the day drew closer that your father and I would ask Loki to consider such a marriage, she confessed that she was excited.” Unexpected tears pricked Frigga’s eyes as she looked out the windows and across the lower city, which gleamed in the sunlight. Somewhere out there Sif waited for Thor, and in the distance a young noblewoman’s family searched for a more suitable husband.

               “After his actions against Odin- the cause for the destruction of the Bifrost could not be concealed; you know the current sentiment towards Loki of the people, even if they do not know his true parentage- the woman’s family revoked the match even if Loki should return. She wrote me a letter, shortly after he fell and was presumed dead, that she was sorry for what had occurred, and wished things could have been different. She said, and I shall never forget it, that she had only met Loki once- her first time at court, when she was four-hundred- and that he had been wonderfully courteous to her. She was sorry to see their feature destroyed so quickly.”

               “I…” Swallowing, Thor was obviously having a difficult time imagining Loki married, and Frigga empathized with him. “I do not understand why you are telling me this.”

               “To assure you, though I think you already know this, that Loki has the potential for goodness in him, and always has. Only time can tell what will happen between him and Jane Foster; be content in knowing she is in safe hands. Hands that a woman who had only met him once was prepared to love. Now, I think you have kept your own love waiting long enough.”

               As Thor stood Frigga smoothed back his mane of golden hair and kissed him on the cheek. He had grown wise in his grief- she was confident that he would come to terms with Loki and Jane’s entwined fates, and that when it was finally time to confront such things, he would be ready.

               A small voice in the back of her head whispered that such a time could not come soon enough. Loki’s Midgardian lives, on average, had been short and merciless, and the growing shadow on Frigga’s heart said that although she would soon regain a son, on Earth a family would lose theirs. The only question left was how, and when.

*

Jane was fully aware that her parents and Darcy shipped her with William like there was no tomorrow, and that in the month that she and the vivacious British actor had been dating her parents had confessed he was the son they never had, the perfect son-in-law, a real-life Disney prince, etc.

               That didn’t make it any easier to have them speak of nothing but how cute he and Jane were together when all she wanted to do was enjoy a quiet lunch after the show.

               “I think you actually paid attention that time!” Her father exclaimed as he took a bite of his fish. Beside him, her mother stole one of his fries and kissed him on the cheek when he shot her a look, causing red to spread across his cheeks.

               “She must have, since she paid for us to see it again.” Taking a sip of her tea, Jane’s mother gave her daughter a pointed look, and Jane realized that she was still holding the playbill from The Globe’s _The Tempest_ in her hand. She stuffed it in her purse and spitefully stabbed her fork into her pizza, worrying its blunt edge against the crust until it split into a smaller piece.

               “I _thought_ you would appreciate-” She began.

               “We’re only teasing you, dear,” her mother said smoothly. “Let us enjoy the novel experience of you volunteering for round two of Shakespeare’s Globe.”

               “It’s only so she could look at William in stage makeup and that flashy costume,” her father prodded, and Jane couldn’t stop a blush of her own. “Ha, look at that, Amanda! Our daughter has a secret costume f-”

               “I do not!” Jane exclaimed, choking on her pizza. “I went for support, and to surprise him and-”

               “To see him in tights,” her mother laughed, pressing a hand to her heart. “I’m starting to like this man more and more, John- first he gets our daughter excited about the stage, and now she’s even beginning to appreciate period costumes.”

               “Next thing we’ll be able to drag her to one of your historical culture conferences.”

               “Those are glorified renaissance fairs, dad!” Jane pointed out, remembering her mother’s “conferences” very vividly from when she was a child. Yes, all those involved were professors or other high-end academics, but she suspected it was really just an opportunity for them to demonstrate how much they adored their chosen time periods through costumes, food, and occasional reenactments. All for academia, of course.

               “What’s that about renaissance fairs?” A mellow voice said from behind her, and before Jane could turn around two gentle hands came to rest on the sides of her neck, and incredibly soft lips kissed her cheek, golden-red stubble scratching her cheek. “I’m partial to the ones with live jousting.”

               “What a surprise, William!” her father exclaimed as William pulled out the chair next to Jane and sat down, allowing all of him to come into her view. After seeing him in full Ariel costume again it was jarring to see him in his normal attire- jeans and a button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbow, a leather jacket thrown over. His blonde hair, now curling to the nape of his neck thanks to the free reign he’d given it the past month, was tinted with red, and the short beard he’d allowed to grow in gave him an altogether leonine look, which wasn’t a bad thing at all.

               “It’s surprisingly easy to drop a costume and some makeup when a beautiful woman is waiting for you beyond the stage,” he said, and held a hand out to Jane. When she took it their fingers curled together, and a tingle ran up her spine. He never ceased to amaze her, and from the look in his eyes, he shared the same feeling. It was impossible, how confident she was about how he felt- she’d never experienced such certainty before, even with Thor _._

               “Well, will you be joining us for lunch, then?” her mother asked, eyebrows raised and hand halfway up to gesture for a waiter. William regretfully shook his head.

               “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m actually going to have to ask to steal your daughter- you see, there are some friends of mine I want her to meet, and an invitation that I am forcing her to honor this afternoon.”

               “Oh?” Her mother’s eyebrows arched higher- suggestively- at her daughter.

               “It’s a pub, mom!” Jane hissed, mortified. “The night he asked me out, he invited me to a pub and we never went!”

               “In that case, enjoy yourselves! We expect you home at a reasonable time, young lady!” her father said sternly, but as Jane rose he winked at William exaggeratedly.

               Laughing good-naturedly, William shook her father’s hand and promised to have her home before midnight. As they walked away he wrapped an arm around her waist, and Jane kissed him, more nervous than anything to meet his “friends.”

               As a scientist she really wasn’t much of a people person, and William, social charmer that he was, couldn’t resist having people around him, telling jokes or listening to stories. He seemed to thrive on social interaction, and it was something Jane was learning to appreciate, but sometimes she just wanted to curl up in a corner with a good book, or some data tables, and lose herself in the silence. Faced with meeting a crowd of his closest friends and colleagues from The Globe, she yearned more than ever for the peace of her parents’ flat- her only home in London, since her stay had been understandably extended. But William was excited to introduce her to them, she had coaxed many quiet evenings out of him, so it was a fair request of her.

               Still, _The Silver Snake_ was very different from her normal coffee-shop-scene hangout when William pushed open the door and she found herself in the middle of the life and soul of The Globe.

               “Ah, William!” A man with striking red hair and a goatee yelled from across the room, where a small group of men and women were stuffed into one of the corner booths. “What took you so long?”

“I’m afraid my fair lady takes priority,” William bowed, and Jane blushed as the booth whistled and hooted.

“Oy, keep it down!” the bartender snapped. “There are paying customers tryin’ to watch th’ game!”

“Please, we’re your _only_ paying customers, Perry,” a woman in a maroon dress called, and the bartender laughed, giving her a broken smile.

“Can I get you and your lady friend anything, William?” Parry asked, turning to them.

“A round of ciders for all of us, thanks,” William smiled and then turned to Jane with a questioning look. “Is that alright?”

“Um, yeah- fine,” she stammered, surveying the group- there were eight of them in the one booth, but it seemed as though the majority of the people scattered around the pub knew them or at least William, as they got several smiles and nods on their way to the booth. Jane slide down while William and the red-haired man got up to get the drinks from the bar, and swallowed nervously.

“So, you’re the woman that drove our William to quoting the bard himself,” the maroon-dress woman said, leaning across the table and grinning. “Well, I can see why- you’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eyes flitting to William’s form emerging from the crowds, a row of drinks in hand.

“Don’t be shy- Julie’s got no filter, is all.” the man next to her said, offering a hand. Jane awkwardly turned to the side to shake it, and found it to be warm, and firm, and covered in callouses. “I’m Drew, one of The Globe’s set crew- Julie’s on costumes crew, and Peter’s an actor.”

Peter, the red-haired man who planted a sloppy kiss on Julie’s lips when he practically sat on her to get into the booth. She just laughed and ruffled his hair, seeming quite content with her ruffian.

“This is Amelia, Hermione, Thomas, Christopher, and Benedict, my colleagues and friends. Friends, this is Dr. Jane Foster, my heart.” William named and gestured to faces, each of which smiled and greeted Jane earnestly from their varying points across the circle table.

Jane gripped William’s hand under the table to steady herself and took a sip of cider, heart fluttering, and allowed herself to get swept up in the clinking of drinks and laughter, sports commentators and stories of their theatre antics. Once or twice she even found herself laughing, and gave William and unabashed kiss when Julie confided that William had actually quoted _Romeo and Juliet_ the night he met her- “Not really a romantic play, but our William could talk the stars into coming to earth and he made Romeo sound like Casanova when he talked about you.”

Two mugs of cider later and having warmed considerably to William’s happy troupe, Jane found herself genuinely reluctant to leave the bar, but the sun would set soon and it would get even colder, they wanted to avoid being out in the worst of the cold. A month ago all of the rain made it seem more like spring than fall, but winter had come to London with a fury and snow flurries weren’t uncommon as they entered the holidays. The last three dates she and William had been on- another night of fun at the observatory, watching the city from the London Eye, and a return to the little café where they spent their first dinner date- had demonstrated the cold to the extent where Jane was willing to sprint to avoid staying out in it, especially without the scant warmth of the sun.

“I was great to meet you,” Jane told the group as she got up and shrugged on her coat. Julie gave her a smile and a wink, and Peter saluted, others murmuring equal pleasantries.

“You have a smart lady there- a brain and a body worth dying for,” Drew laughed, waggling his eyebrows. “Don’t hide her away so much in the future.”

“She’s not a piece of meat, mate,” William said good-naturedly, but his eyes became more remote than they had been.

“Just a joke, Will. Get home safe.”

As Jane and William headed out into the orange and pink of a dying sun, Jane wrapped her scarf tighter around herself and shivered. It looked like snow again tonight.

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of the cold-” William began suddenly, and Jane laughed, breath fogging in the air. “But I was wondering if you would, perhaps, tolerate it if it meant a clear sky and a warm fireplace afterwards?”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked as they turned the corner, joining the rest of the London mob, invisible in their dark coats and scarves, holding hands and keeping close to ward off the chill. All around them streetlights began to light, and cabs roared by, holly and Christmas lights glowing in every window they passed.

“Well, the clouds haven’t actually come in yet, and Hyde Park is a beautiful place in Christmastime,” he suggested, a suggestive smile on his face. “You can see the stars as clear as anything- like diamonds caught in a sea- remote, piercing, absolutely beautiful.”

“I could be persuaded.”

William’s kiss stopped her in her tracks- and several other people, too, who either grumbled and moved on, or laughed. Her gloved hands reached to encompass his neck as she leaned in, imagining that this was what Christmas was supposed to be like. His lips tasted like mint and apple cider.

When they broke away their faces were flushed, Jane’s hands still wrapped around his neck.

“Now, about those stars…”

*

The door to William’s apartment opened with a small squeak, a cheery “Happy Christmas!” welcome matt greeting their snow-covered boots. As William moved further inside, turning on lights and telling her to treat it like home, Jane hung her coat and scarf in an attempt to stop from trembling. She shouldn’t be nervous about this- they’d been together a month, it was about time she was invited back to his place, and besides, he was nothing if not a gentleman.

               So why was it so strange to follow his voice into the tasteful, festively decorated living room, and have him look at her as if she had always belonged in this place, his home, and he had only been waiting for her to bring it to life?

               “Give the fire a minute and it’ll be so hot you’ll sweat your socks off,” he joked, standing and closing the grate over the cheery blaze. A small decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner of the very modern, but cozy living room, whose walls were covered in bookshelves and pictures of his friends and family. William went through a doorway into what Jane supposed was the kitchen, and Jane idly browsed through the pictures, taking off her gloves and allowing the growing warmth of the fire to thaw her.

               Hyde Park had, indeed, been beautiful for stargazing before the snow clouds arrived and covered her and William in the wet white snowflakes. By that time it was so late Jane didn’t want to walk into her parent’s flat in the middle of the night, and William had jumped on the opportunity to invite her to his home. So here she stood, looking at a picture of he and his sisters on Elis Island, the Statue of Liberty looming in the background.

               For a moment Jane wondered what his sisters were like- they both looked very much like him, one with the same sunny hair and another with brunette more like Jane’s, thin noses and bright eyes. A beep from her pocket interrupted the musings, however.

               _From: Erik Selvig_

_New equation didn’t work- will have to keep trying. Rules out possibility of few months._

Jane sighed, and texted back that she would come by tomorrow afternoon to help him go over the data again. Ever since she had finally found Erik a few weeks ago- after a nasty incident with the police, proof that Erik still wasn’t cured of the side-effects of Loki’s mind-control- she had been helping him with his newest “project,” though he was adamant that it was crucial to saving the world.

               _“Once every 5,000 years the realms align, and our ancestors gave us a map to figure out the center of the next Convergence,” Erik said, pointing to the yarn and thumbtacks covering the map on the wall of his “lab”- a cheap flat in one of London’s less-reputable areas. “This means that travel between the realms could be as easy as flying into a portal, but I suspect- and your studies confirm this- that the Convergence could bring on incredible inter-realm anomalies with cataclysmic consequences on Earth. I have no idea when it will start, but the anomalies have been showing up for weeks now so it can’t be too long…”_

_“Is this what you’ve been studying?” Jane gasped, looking over his notes and mad ramblings, remembering vividly her experience with the portal in the warehouse. “All these months you’ve been missing- you’ve been figuring out when the Convergence will happen?”_

_“Yes, yes, but more important is how long it will be!” Erik exclaimed, a manic light in his eyes. “It could happen in the next few weeks, it could happen in a year, and there’s no evidence for how long it will last. We need a tracking algorithm, and who better than the creator of the Foster Theory about Einstein Rosen-brides?”_

_“Does S.H.I.E.L.D. know about this?” Jane whispered, brow furrowed in concern. Erik hadn’t been right in the head since the attack on New York- he was still a brilliant scientist, and her friend, but something in Loki’s scepter had addled his mind and she was worried about him dropping off the map again. Maybe it_ was _time to get S.H.I.E.L.D. involved, if the anomalies she had been studying for the past few weeks were part of this “Convergence.”_

_“No, no!” Gathering up his notes and stuffing them in a fold, adding a few more tacks to his map idly, Erik’s tone of voice grew agitated. “They’d want to use it as a weapon, or a way to get to other realms, or worse, shut both of us out- after what happened with the Tesseract… Jane, this isn’t something S.H.I.E.L.D. will understand nearly as well as us. Do I have you help coming up with a prediction equation for the time and duration of the Convergence?”_

_“…. Of course.”_

A soft cough behind her had her phone dropping into her pocket and her whipping around, suddenly feeling guilty. William had two mugs of hot coco in his hands, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows, and had peeled away his outer layers until nothing remained but his cream sweater, which looked impossibly good on his smooth physique.

               “Hot chocolate? I figured we should probably thaw our fingers first,” he joked, and she took one of the mugs, the heat seeping into her grateful bones. Suddenly the white love seat in front of the fireplace seemed very comfortable, and she snuggled down into the pillows, sipping the coco carefully.

               William joined her at the other end, leaving a respectable few inches of space between them which, with a surge of chocolate-induced courage, Jane closed by bringing her feet up to lay gently on top of his legs. The gesture, seemingly so small, was a milestone for her- kissing and hand-holding she could do, those were the stuff of even high school relationships, but being in another man’s apartment with her feet on his legs, sipping hot coco and growing deliciously warm in front of a festive fire, was another thing entirely. It was hard to realize that she hadn’t had this kind of intimacy with anyone for years.

               “Thank you,” Jane whispered suddenly, looking at him seriously. He set his coco down on the coffee table, and returned the look.

               “For what?”

               “For this,” Jane said, gesturing around and feeling foolish. “It’s been a long time since I… you know, ever got this far.”

               Instantly his eyes softened and he reached across the couch to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

               “You know, I’m as crazy about you now as I was a month ago when I asked you to dinner,” he confessed, a small smile heightening the shadows thrown across his face by the firelight. The side of his face to the fire was lit by a warm glow, the other side more pale and shrouded with the shadows of falling snow clumps from outside the kitchen window. “Please, don’t feel pressured by any of this. I just want you to be comfortable.”

               “No, I-I am,” Jane assured him. “This is wonderful.”

               “Then you won’t mind me doing this.” His eyes lit with excitement as he reached down to grab something from the underside of the coffee table, but as he brought the little red-wrapped box into the light the smile slid off his face. “Happy Christmas, Jane.”

               “Christmas isn’t for almost two weeks!” Jane exclaimed, stomach dropping at the sight of the little gift which was the perfect size for a piece of jewelry. “I can’t take this when I haven’t gotten your gift yet!”

               “I’m afraid even my patience is tested during the holiday season- one of my many flaws,” William said even as he pressed the box into her hands as she, too, put her coco aside. “Besides, I didn’t know whether or not we’d get to spend Christmas together.”

               With trembling hands Jane ripped the wrapping paper aside to reveal a simple white box and, within, a necklace of three glinting white gems connected by a triangle of silver bands. The metal was fluid as it flowed between the gems, and the pendant itself hung on a delicate silver chain which glinted gold in the firelight of the dim room. Simple, yet elegant- it took Jane’s breath away, and as she held it up for a moment she couldn’t speak.

               “I hope you like it- I know you don’t really wear jewelry, it not being very practical, but I figured you might agree to wear this.” William said softly. As the pendant rotated on the end of its chain, his green-blue eyes met Jane’s through the triangle of silver, and she swallowed thickly. “They’re the three stars that make up the Summer Triangle on the end of the constellation Scorpius, and represent the love of-”

               The name “Summer Triangle” sounded familiar to Jane, who had the nagging sensation that it was connection to a myth or story of some kind. When the answer into Jane’s head she was so proud of remembering that she finished William’s sentence before him.

               “Orpheus and Eurydice!” she exclaimed, recalling the pages of the old book of myths and an illustration of the three Summer Triangle stars. William gave her a bemused look, and she smiled sheepishly. “Sorry- I’ve been doing some reading up.”

               “Never apologize for enthusiasm,” he laughed, scooting closer. “I’m glad you recognized it, actually- it’s a rather sad story for such beautiful stars.”

               “A little sad for Christmas,” Jane said as William’s nimble fingers took the necklace and buried themselves in her hair, winding around her neck. As he clasped the chain and let the necklace fall just below her collarbone, a chill ran through her, quickly fixed by his warm fingers on her face.

               “Sometimes love is sad, but that doesn’t make it any less wonderful,” William said gently. Apparently he noticed Jane’s shiver, because he reached behind him to grab a thick brown blanket and threw it over them, Jane shifting to lean against his chest. “In spite of that, we are going to have a wonderful night.”

               “You could make it better by serenading me on your lyre,” Jane said, raising an eyebrow at him and prompting a small chuckle. It radiated from deep in his chest and danced its way up his body, causing her to feel it as it left his throat- a rich, deep sound like the melted chocolate drink in their abandoned mugs.

               “A piano I have meagre skill with, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you as far as my expertise of ancient stringed-instruments goes,” he murmured into her hair. “What about you, doctor? Do you have any hidden musical talents?”

               “As if,” Jane snorted. “I was kicked out of chorus in high school because my music teacher called me tone-deaf.”

               “Hm, you’re in luck then. Because mine said I was e _xcellent,_ ” William said. Jane’s fingers wound with his, and she watched the fire dance as William began to hum, long and low. When he began to sing, his voice washed over her like music, erasing everything but the snow falling outside and the heat of his body next to hers, the chill necklace resting against her skin.

               “ _The sky is dark and the hills are white_

_As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night;_

_And this is the song the storm-king sings,_

_As over the world his cloak he flings:_

_‘Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;’_

_He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:_

_‘Sleep, little one, sleep,’_ " he sang, cheek resting on the top of her head. Jane felt her eyelids droop, and a faint smile brushed her lips before they fell closed.

               Orpheus and Eurydice… sad, but the meaning behind it had set the fire of the sun in Jane’s heart, and the longer his voice lingered in her dreams, the more certain her subconscious mind became that she had found her own musician, with a voice fit to charm Hades himself.

“ _On yonder mountain-side a vine_

_Clings at the foot of a mother pine;_

_The tree bends over the trembling thing,_

_And only the vine can hear her sing:_

_‘Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;_

_What shall you fear when I am here?_

_Sleep, little one, sleep.’_

_The king may sing in his bitter flight,_

_The pine may croon to the vine to-night,_

_But the little snowflake at my breast_

_Liketh the song I sing the best, ---_

_‘Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;_

_Weary thou art, anext my heart;_

_Sleep, little one, sleep.’_ "


	8. Chapter 8

When the cold, stark sunlight filtering in through the kitchen window wandered its way into the living room and onto Jane’s face, she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. Memories of a fire, and hot coco, something beautiful and glittering in her hands danced through her dissipating dreams; she didn’t want to let go of that achingly perfect feeling. Something sizzled in the kitchen behind her, and the smell of food reached her protesting stomach.

               “Morning, love,” a voice whispered, and two hands gently stroked back her tangled hair. Unable to stay asleep any longer Jane allowed her eyes to open, and twisted her head up to see William smiling down on her. As her gaze wandered she realized that she had fallen asleep on his white couch, and the fire had died. The clock on the wall read 9:02.

               “I’m s-so sorry,” Jane yawned, wiggling up and stretching out her back like a cat. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

               “I was surprised it took you so long, actually,” William said as he passed her a mug of coffee, which she took gratefully, watching the steam drowsily rise and curl in the chilly apartment.

               “There are eggs and waffles in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.” He walked away and momentarily Jane heard the sound of plates and silverware clinking.

               _He’s even setting the table…_ As she sat up and smoothed her hair back, rooting around in her pockets for a hair tie, she abruptly remembered the sound of his voice as he lulled her to sleep, and her head lolling against his chest. Bringing the hair tie up, her hand brushed against something cool dangling out in front of her as she bent over to get a better hold on her hair. She looked down and saw the Summer Triangle charm, cast in her shadow.

               Then she stood up and looked at William in the kitchen, who was serving eggs and waffles onto two plates, setting syrup in the middle of the small table, an excited smile on his face. Jane’s heart melted as her fingers brushed the necklace.

               It was absolutely crazy, and it had only been a month- Jane should have learned her lesson about whirlwind romances- but…

 _No._ She couldn’t let herself fall so far- all of the greywashed pain of Thor’s absence washed over her, draining the cheerful Christmas spirit of William’s flat until she was staring at the long, flat expanse of solitude she had inhabited for almost two years.

               “Jane? Are you alright?” His voce cut through the emptiness like a spotlight in the dark, and his gentle probing hands on her shoulders brought her back to herself with a jolt. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

               “I-I’m fine…. Just zoned out,” she said, ashamed to hear her voice shake. Everything had been wonderful before she let herself think, get caught up in the possibilities before reality- and precedent- dragged her into the depths.       

               “Are you sure?” Brow furrowed, he looked at her with concern clear in his green-blue eyes, mouth turned down in a frown.

               “Of course,” forcing a smile on her face, she brushed him away gently and stood up, smoothing down her blouse and tightening her ponytail. “I just need some food.”

               “Alright, then.” He still looked worried, but when she let him take her hand and pull out her chair for her he seemed to relax, and as they chatted over waffles and eggs with frozen strawberries and real syrup, Jane felt the shroud of Thor’s abandonment lifting. It was embarrassing, how much just three days had crippled her, but in her heart she prayed she wasn’t a fool for hoping William was changing that. That her optimism for the relationship wasn’t merely wistful thinking.

               “So… what’s on the agenda for today? Yesterday was your last show, right?” Jane said as she took a bite of her eggs- dry, just how she liked them.

               “Yes. Rehearsals for _Coriolanus_ don’t start for another few weeks, so as long as you’ll put up with me… I’m all yours this holiday season.” Spearing a piece of waffle with his fork, he stretched his arm across the table, white t-shirt showing his muscles in a favorable light, and fed it to her.

               As she swallowed the sweet morsel, Jane grinned and fingered her necklace.

               “Good, because I owe you a gift and I still haven’t gotten Darcy anything.”

               “I suppose going Christmas shopping will require real cloths, then,” William said mournfully, looking down at his red plaid pajama pants with an expression of utter grief.

               Jane understood his pain- but at least he had had pajamas to change into. She was still in her cloths from yesterday morning, though he hadn’t seemed to notice or care.

               “Are you sure you don’t want to just want to spend the morning in? A kiss would be the perfect gift, I promise you,” William pleaded, but there was a grin on his face and he was already halfway out of his chair, preparing to clean up the dishes.

               “Let me.” Taking his plate and lifting hers, Jane looked pointedly down the hallway where she supposed his bedroom was. “You go get dressed, then we’ll stop by my parents’ place so I can put on real cloths- and tell them I wasn’t kidnapped.”

               “As my lady commands.”

*

Clutching the plum sweater in her hands- it would match Darcy’s hat and mittens perfectly- and the book wrapped inside it, Jane shifted from foot to foot impatiently. There was something to be said about the seven-story John Lewis London department store having many options, but that also meant that the line for the first-floor cash register was ridiculously long. The ones on the upper floors hadn’t nearly been as bed- getting her parents’ gifts had proven that. Looking down at her watch, she realized that she had been standing there for almost ten minutes.

               Served her right, she supposed- she’d taken too long finding William’s gift. But, it was _perfect…_

Just thinking about the thick book hidden from sight in the folds of the sweater made Jane smile in anticipation. Finding it tucked in the back of the book section had been a miracle; she knew he would love it. _Echoes from the Stars_ was written on the cover in looping silver cursive, over a gorgeous painting of the night sky with pictures drawn over the stars. Inside it was a catalogue of most every known constellation and star and their significance to the stories and myths of other cultures going back thousands of years, with pictures, diagrams, professional articles. It was an astronomer’s feast, and for a storyteller like William, the perfect gift.

               Jane glanced over at him, and the smile melted off of her face. He was still on the phone by the coat racks, one hand in his pocket, brow furrowed in concern. She hoped everything was alright- he had looked excited when he had answered, but now…

               When he glanced over and saw her looking he quickly smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. A second later Jane was paying, and he was walking towards her.

               “Got everything?” he asked, slipping an arm around her waist. Biting her lip, Jane nodded- he had beat her question with his. Now there was no smooth way to ask him what the phone call was about.

               “Yeah. I hope Darcy likes the sweater…”

               “It matches the hat your mother knitted her perfectly. She’ll love it, if her excitement over the hat is anything to go by,” William laughed, shoulders relaxing, and Jane let out her breath. It was true- when Jane’s mother had given her the hat to match her new mittens she had loved it so much she refused to take it off, even inside the heated apartment.

When they exited the shop they were greeted by fat, wet rain that dripped down on them, turning last night’s snow into thin puddles that flooded down into the streets.

               “Ah, I should have known it wouldn’t last,” William said, mouth turned down as he stuck a hand out from under the store’s awning to feel the freezing drops. “You know you’re in London when a mountain of snow clouds turns into rain in the space of a few hours.”

               “At least the apartment isn’t too far,” Jane commented as William pulled out his umbrella and, arm in arm, they stepped into the torrent. Jane silently thanked Darcy for making her wear her two-inch black boots rather than her Uggs as they made their way through the rapidly forming lake.

               “Do you have the time?” he asked. Jane held up her watch- 3:00. “Good, we’ll be there early enough to help with dinner.”

               “You know they’ll never let you.” William merely smiled, a determined look on his face. When they had stopped by the apartment earlier that morning and her parents had invited them over for an early dinner, they had made it very clear that it was their treat and they would do everything themselves. Of course William wasn’t going to stand for that.

               “It’s the least I can do, considering what I’m going to ask them,” he said cryptically, arm tightening ever so slightly around her waist.

               “What do you mean? Does it have something to do with that call in the store?” At Jane’s question he looked at her in surprise, which then faded into a rueful smile.

               “Yes… although, before I talk to them, I need to ask you a rather selfish question,” he said as they walked, not looking at her.

               “Ask away,” she replied uncertainly, watching carefully where they were going since William was obviously too preoccupied to pay attention.

“It was my parents who called in the store just now; apparently my sisters are coming up to spend Christmas with them in Beverly, in East Yorkshire, and they invited me to join them. It’s been years since all five of us were together for Christmas and I wanted to know- since the whole family is dying to meet you- if you’d join us.” He looked at her hopefully. “I understand completely if you say no- your parents and Darcy must have been looking forward to spending Christmas with you-”

               “We _will_ have to talk to my parents tonight, but… that sounds wonderful.” At her acceptance William’s eyes lit up, and he began to whistle cheerfully as they approached the end of the block.

               “I’m afraid I’ve probably taken up an indecent amount of phone time talking about you with them, but Gemma and Beth are excited to meet you.”

               “Those are your sisters?”

               “Yes- Beth’s an artist, and Gemma just got an internship with some secret government organization that she’s not allowed to speak about.” But William didn’t sound overly concerned about his sister’s nebulous job, just happy for her.

               For her part Jane was excited to meet William’s family- if they were anything like him, then it would be an absolute delight. However, this created more than a few social problems for her. Normally she worked during the holidays- spending a real Christmas in a place with snow and a family instead of her lab in the middle of New Mexico was strange, to say the least.

               Still, they both shared stupid grins as they strolled across the street, rain pounding on the concrete around them. It looked as though Jane would have a happy Christmas after all. Now, if she could only get Erik to come out of his hole- maybe Darcy would check on him for her while she was away? He’d texted her his latest formula for tracking the Convergence, which estimated its duration to be somewhere around a few months, but it wouldn’t actually begin for almost a year, leaving them plenty of time to prepare for the anomalies it would bring with it.

               As they neared the end of the street Jane began to hear Christmas music- “Carol of the Bells”, maybe? She looked around, brow furrowed, until William nodded to the storefront to their right. It was completely decked out in holly and mistletoe and sparkling gold and silver, and its wide open doors let Christmas music trickle out onto the street. Somehow it kept things merry, despite the rain still washing past their umbrella.

               They turned the corner as the music grew to a crescendo, and Jane briefly glanced both ways before they began to cross the street behind the larger crowd, bag of gifts swinging cheerily on her arm as the cold nipped at her red nose.

Suddenly the screech of tires drowned out the Christmas music as a large black car careened around the corner, pivoting wildly in the wet, icy road. Panic stalled Jane's heart and her feet as she scrambled to move, heels kicking up water, but she was in the middle of the street and the car was twenty feet away.

Ten.

Five.

_Where was William?_

"Will-"

Something hard knocked into her back and sent her sprawling, but not before she felt a painful jerk on her neck. She fell onto the sidewalk a split second before the car passed her, still speeding. Head spinning, she registered the blood on her palms from where she hit concrete. Past the ringing in her ears she heard someone yell.

 "Bloody hell!" A gruff voice muttered in her ears, two strong arms pulling her to her feet.

She rocked wildly once she was upright but the man supported her. Where was William?

"Someone call an ambulance!" A woman snapped.

Ambulance.

Something had knocked her out of the way. Was that glass on the road?

An ungodly wail split the air when her eyes, following the broken glass and black tire-trail to where the black car lay crashed into the side of the Christmas store, saw the body crumpled a few feet away from the wreck. Steam poured from the hood of the wrinkled car, and a man with blood on his forehead stumbled out of the driver's seat, looking dazed but otherwise fine.

Jane couldn't see past the other body.

"You alright, miss?" the man asked, but his voice seemed slurred and far away. Why did everything seem so loud?

That was when she realized the sound was her. Tearing herself away from the man she raced across the street, ignorant of the way traffic continued on the road adjacent them as if nothing had happened, the way a small crowd had formed around the car.

"Let me through!" she yelled when she slammed into the wall of bodies, pressed against by thick costs and fogging breath. "I'm his- Please..." But everyone was too preoccupied to notice one woman. Sirens screamed in the distance.

"Oi! Let the lady through!" It was the man who helped her when William pushed her out of the way. "She's his girlfriend!"

This got people's attention, and slowly they began to let her through, her gruff guardian pushing where there was no room. Finally she was feet away from the car, from its driver sitting on the curb looking completely trashed even though it was the middle of the day, the rain pounding and soaking her cloths, her purse, the gifts- she hadn’t been holding the umbrella.

"William," Jane’s voice broke and she began to sob, because there was blood pooling beneath his head, soaking the khakis of the woman who was sitting down by him, holding his hand. Jane didn’t notice her until she beckoned, speaking softly. She was crying, but it was hard to tell with the rain washing down her face, washing into her cloths, filtering the blood into the street...

“I think he wants you,” she said. Shakily Jane lowered herself to her knees, staring at the light rapidly leaving William’s green-blue eyes. At the sight of her his entire body seemed to relax, and his fingers twitched in her direction. She let her hand close around his numbly.

“Jane,” he sighed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

The world rocked around her when she realized what had just happened- her name had been his last breath.

There was no chest movement now, no life in the blue-green orbs that stared at her. Blood soaked the pavement beneath his head, and his arm was twisted at an odd angle.

"No...." Her chest heaved as she forced herself to her feet and stumbled back from the cold body that wasn’t her William, couldn’t be her sunny, warm, brilliant William. Again the man caught her as she lurched sideways, gravity rendered null in her grief. She would need to thank him later, she thought numbly.

EMTs swarmed the scene, and upon seeing Jane one asked if she had been hit. She shook her head, still staring at the body that had once been a man brighter than the sun.

"Miss? Were you hurt?" Someone in green asked.

"She hit her head in the pavement," the man holding her up said. "When he pushed her out of the way."

William had pushed her out of the way, and all he'd gotten for it was a split skull and crushed chest. Jane thought she was going to be sick.

"Don't look," the man whispered, angling her away from the body. "Here, look at me. Just look at me, alright?"

Blinking through her tears, Jane saw two hazel eyes and stubble on a strong chin, an earnest look on his face.

"Just breathe."

She couldn’t think- her mind was dominated by imagining the car crashing into William as he took her place on the road, his body flying- _ohgod._

_I can’t breathe._

*

His name was Marcus Whitehall. He was married to Heather, and had three children- Luke, Amelia, and Zoe. He had been going Christmas shopping when the crash happened, and stayed with Jane for the entirety of the ride to the hospital, talking to her, calming her down to the point where she was able to use his phone- hers must have fallen out of her coat during the accident- to call her parents once they arrived.

In a shaking voice she told her parents that she was at the hospital, that there was an accident, and to come get her please because she couldn't seem to remember how to walk, or even move. Please, please, mom, dad, _save me_.

When Heather arrived to get her husband she found him sitting in an examination room with Jane, who had had her hands treated and her head scanned for any serious brain injuries. She didn't even have a concussion. The woman embraced her husband first, and then Jane, before they both left.

Seeing them leave was like losing a guardian angel.

*

Haltingly Jane listened to the woman behind the desk call William's parents. She had been discharged a few minutes ago and was waiting for pickup, bandaged hands resting limply on her knees. Her eyes traced the paint curving on the wall blankly, each brushstroke William’s cold body being bagged and wheeled to the morgue.  

               “Mr. and Mrs. Hart?” Her voice was too clinical, too impersonal. “I’m afraid I have some bad news about your son….”

               _Bad news._

_I’m sorry, but your son’s arm was broken._

_I have some bad news about your son… he’s in the hospital with brain trauma._

_I’m afraid your son’s head split on the pavement after he was crashed into by a drunk driver._

_I’m afraid your son-_

_I’m afraid._

It was a good thing Darcy ran in when she did, because Jane was on the verge of laughter at the absurdity of it all. A condolences call from hundreds of miles away telling them that one of their children was dead for a woman they hadn’t even met. She lifted a hand to keep her mouth shut, but in holding in the laughter her body had to compensate somehow, and the tears made a return after several dry hours.

"Jane?" Darcy exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace her friend with relief written across her face. When Jane didn't return the embrace, however, Darcy stepped back. Looking her friend over her face slowly fell, until Jane was sure their faces were mirrors of devastation.

"What happened?" Darcy asked, breath hitching in her throat. Through her haze of tears Jane saw her parents come in behind Darcy, her mother’s eyes puffy, father’s jaw tight.

               “Come on, Jane,” her father said softly, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

               “Home,” Jane repeated. The word sounded funny and odd on her tongue; a foreigner to her vocabulary. “He pushed me out of the way, dad.”

               “What?”

               “H-he wanted to get home quickly to help with dinner,” she rasped, blinking back tears as her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Her father’s arm, rather than comfort her, was like lead weighing down her back. “And a car c-came and pushed me out of the way. He was too slow to- to-”

               _Too slow to save himself._

_He chose._

_He chose me._

It wasn’t until they were back at her parents’ apartment, and she was getting in the shower to wash off William’s blood, that she realized the Summer Triangle necklace was gone. Suddenly the steam seemed to clog her lungs, the necklace’s absence felt like a gaping hole where her chest should be, nothing to hold her together or keep her heart beating. Curling up in a ball on the hard tile, scalding water beating down on her naked body, she had to shove her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. Suddenly Orpheus didn’t seem so stupid anymore- she’s go to the Lord of the Dead and back for William.

She just hadn’t realized it until it was too late.  

*

As one heart stopped on Midgard, in the crypts beneath Asgard’s greatest palace another proceeded to beat. Sickly pale skin rushed to conceal Jotunn blue and green magic crackled in the air, blowing away the thin burial shroud which had been his only company since Thor's visit.

Loki, son of Laufey, Prince of Asgard, had come home. But it would be hours before his screams reached the upper floors, and the torment of his unconscious mind was discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A NOTE at of 3/13/2017  
> I'm still adding chapters sporadically. Yes this work is completed. It just takes time to update and add chapters one after the other on AO3, and I'm doing minor editing as I go.


	9. Chapter 9

Frigga felt the magic ripple through her being like storm-waves over a rocky shore, disturbing her so much that the book she was holding fell from her hands. It hit the floor with a thud that fell on deaf ears- all she could hear were the screams reverberating through her mind, chilling her skin and sending her hands a-tremble.   
“Guards!” she called, but what came from her mouth was a broken whisper, not the strong order of a queen. Swallowing, she stood and, hands clenched, steeled herself against the powerful magic emanating from the bowels of the palace. The magic which was all too familiar to her.   
“Guards!” This time the call was louder and one of the gold-clad Einherjar stuck his head into her study, eyes widening at seeing the queen so disturbed. “Dispatch five of the company to the crypts at once- tell the captain that Prince Loki has awoken, and he is to be taken to Eir at once.”   
The guard nodded and quickly retreated, leaving Frigga alone and suddenly cold despite the sunlight filtering through the open windows. She hadn’t felt such a powerful surge of magic in an age… filled with such agony. That lash of energy had been as reflexive and impulsive as the bite of a cornered animal, fueled by desperation and pain.   
Loki had come back to them, but in what state… Frigga feared to know. She gathered her skirts and hurried towards the healing room, telling a servant on the way to fetch Prince Thor.   
*  
The doors of the healing rooms flew open at the gesture of her hand, admitting the queen into the middle of a flurry of activity. Apprentice healers in blue robes scurried to and fro between curtained beds, and white-clad healers all converged around one spot in the back of the spacious chamber lined with windows and thick drapes pulled back to let in the sun. In the dark corner where they gathered, however, every curtain was pulled shut to create a shadow which turned her silver-blue dress the color of midnight.  
Parting the crowd of healers she found herself standing next to Eir and the only occupied bed in the infirmary.   
Frigga could hardly believe her eyes when she saw Loki before her, pale and shaking from the weight of so many lives lived and burdens bourn. His raven hair was wild about his face and fell to his shoulders in the kind of reckless abandon he had scorned as a child. His pale, gaunt face had an air of neglect about it- as if his body had begun to waste away without a soul to reside in it.   
Beneath bruise-purple eyelids his eyes darted wildly, indicative of a nightmare, but when Frigga tried to go to him Eir put a gentle palm on her shoulder to hold her back.  
“He must retain the shadows of more lives than one soul is made for, and as his mind and body struggle to make each life part of the whole again we must not touch his skin, lest some of our own memories imprint upon his mind. It is fragile still, trying to condense each separate life lived into the person he is meant to be,” the healer whispered gently, and Frigga swallowed hard. A hundred voices were in her son’s head, each his, yet not his, crying out for a life of their own. And he would have to subdue them all alone.   
“Will he heal? Will he come back to us?” she asked. Eir nodded.  
“The Norns would not have put him through such a trial if they did not believe some good would come of it. And Prince Loki’s strength has always resided within his mind- I would not doubt his capabilities.”  
“I never have,” Frigga said firmly, and sank down in the seat next to the bed. It was physically painful not to brush the hair away from his forehead, or lean down to kiss his eyelids. She would restrain herself, and wait however long it took for her son to find his way home.   
“I love you, Loki,” she whispered softly, hands hovering over his. “Your father loves you, and Thor loves you. We miss you, my little snowflake- come home to us. We are waiting.”  
*  
Of all the thoughts searing through Loki’s mind, there were two dominant focuses, and as he struggled to reconcile dozens of lives into one being again, that person he had once known as Loki and now found lost in a sea of identities, they fought a vicious battle.   
Pain red blood ripping tearing mauling biting lostlostlost  
Her face floated before him, lit by his delirium with golden light which haloed her sleek brown hair and delicate features. All images of her floating through his subconscious were warmth, and light, and sometimes pain but always the good kind-  
Come back to me love  
Voices clamoring for control within him all cried out, united by the thought of this woman, this most important person. And she was bright, and beautiful, her soft hands framing his face, perfectly formed mouth whispering comforts.   
“Loki,” she begged, tears dripping onto his face. “Come home to us.”   
But Loki could not move- he was pinned down to some strangled black rock by metal chords that bit and tore at his flesh. Slowly the tears of this woman who claimed to love him turned to hot blood seeping into his skin, showering over him until he burned and writhed in agony against the jagged rock, yet more blood, his blood, pooling down from his back.  
A cosmos whirled above and around him, black spires of rock jutting into the sky to block out the purple and blue pinpoint stars. Two hands clamped around the side of his face- not the woman’s, no, these hands were strong and cruel- and with fingernails like knives dug deep into the skin.   
Loki’s screams surely made the entirety of the barren, worthless asteroid shake, but his bonds offered no release.   
“You are ours now, son of Jotunnheim,” the voice to which the hands belonged hissed in his ears.   
Something in Loki’s memories stirred, the pain easing as he realized he had witnessed- lived through- this scene before. This was not and could not be new.   
“What is it you desire most?” This time the voice was different- harsher, and with all the ferocity and weight of a rockslide. Loki’s entire body shuddered reflexively- he had learned the true meaning of fear from this voice, this towering being who played with his mind as easily as plucking the strings of a lyre.   
This was not real. It was memory- memory! Recollection, a shadow, nothing more!   
“There will be no rock, no barren moon, where he cannot find you!” The Other snarled.   
Loki’s mind clenched and coiled, struggling to tear itself free from the stress-induced memories while repressing the voices of his other selves. Slowly, steadily, every piece of his soul re-connected, and he breathed a pained sigh of relief.   
He could feel himself, knew himself.   
He was Loki.   
He was home.   
Loki’s eyes flew open. For a moment they whirled around madly in the darkness, fear clutching his heart with malicious claws until he spotted the light at the end of his bed, a long tunnel of sunshine which illuminated the healing chambers. Confusion lanced through him, only exacerbating the headache. He needed to get up, to move- they would find him here, they promised they would find him-  
“Prince Loki,” a voice soothed, and something wet touched his forehead. A friendly face- dimly Loki recognized Eir, but confusion, fear, panic closed around him too swiftly for him to react with logic- hovered above him, yet Loki batted away the cloth.   
Heaving himself up from the bed he had to clutch the curtains wildly to keep himself from falling, the effort of pulling himself to his feet sending his heart racing. Why was it suddenly so hard to breath, to hear, to think!?  
The world spun around him in shades of red and gold as black vines crept into his vision, threats of darkness, of pain. He had to run.   
“Prince Loki, you should be resting!” Eir cried, rushing over to him, but he summoned a dagger to keep her at bay. Shock colored her face as she held up both hands in a placating gesture. “You have just endured-”  
“I know!” He snarled, so loudly that there was a gasp to his right, but he didn’t spare it his attention. “I can hear them-”  
screaming.   
In a panic he drew the threads of the universe around him, sensing for a pathway through the palace, and vanished.   
*  
The rush of magic that washed across the library sent dust flying, ruffling the pages of books forgotten on tables and shivering the spines of those dutifully lined on the shelves. In the middle of history, art, science, geography, Loki teetered on unsteady feet, bloodless face staring blankly around him.   
He didn’t remember aiming for the library, but it was here, it was, mercifully, here, wood rough beneath his fingers leather chairs stiff from disuse. Tangible and impossible to be faked.   
Crashing back against a bookshelf, his chest heaved with a thousand years of unshed tears rushing to his eyes, overflowing like rain held too long in oversaturated clouds. Unable to stop the river as he heard the screams of his other lives, his other selves, still whirling within him- contained but not connected- Loki sank to the floor, head falling between his knees.   
Loki. That was his name- he remembered that. But who was Loki?   
Was Loki the shy prince who fell in love with a queen? The unstable king who loved his foreign wife and died too soon? The humble actor of modern-day London with a bleeding heart and empathy enough for a hundred men?   
Separating Midgard from Asgard sent splitting pain through his skull for one life, his last life, refused to let him lie.   
A smothered scream escaped Loki’s lips as he recalled the part of him that was William- honest, kind, hardworking. The part of him that watched the newsfeeds of “Loki” unleashing an alien army upon New York, that ached for the hundreds of people lost in the invasion. Loki saw himself for the first time, the explosions and piled bodies, the madness in his glinting blue eyes, and shuddered. That was who he had become, on the barren moon which was his prison while the Titan Thanos warped his mind, fed upon his darkest fantasies of ruling, put a scepter in his hand, and told him they could be real.   
I am Loki.   
Within him magic snapped and writhed, and as he recalled watching the battle of New York his concentration faltered, blue rippling across his skin.   
I am Loki!  
This time his arm lashed out with such force that books flew from the shelves, scattering around him like corpses on a battlefield. More tears dripped from his eyes are he let his head fall into his hands.   
I am Loki….  
The sun grew lower and lower in the sky, until at last it fell behind the looming bookshelves and left Loki in an ever-lengthening shadow, petrifying him in a bittersweet promise that he would never feel alone. Among the books and chairs, the secret nook of his childhood, he let himself become one with the shelves. Surely there were enough stories in his head to warrant him a place here, among the lost and forgotten things that no one but him had ever cared about.   
Like a statue he sat curled around himself, eyes drifting closed, hands clasped, knuckles white. Until lumbering footsteps caught his attention and the shadowy presence of a hulk at the entrance between his two shelves wouldn’t let him be.   
“Loki?”  
Shoulders stiffening, Loki tried to ignore that voice, warm and filled with concern and too familiar for comfort.   
“Mother summoned me when you woke, but when I arrived at the healing rooms you had gone… we have been searching for hours,” Thor said, and Loki felt him step closer.   
His eyes snapped open and he raised his head, hauling himself stiffly to his feet, body aching. Why had Thor come to taunt him? To seek him out when he was no better than the scum on the bottom of his boots?   
He had fought Thor- betrayed Thor- and in his mind’s eye he saw his brother’s face when the knife dug past armor and into flesh, bone, blood….   
He couldn’t stop shaking and it was humiliating, crying in front of the mighty Thor, but he couldn’t control himself. Terrified at the loss of ownership over his own body Loki collapsed against Thor’s breastplate, fingernails digging into the skin of his arms as he gasped for air.   
“Brother,” he whispered, clinging to him as a drowning man does a life raft. “Thor, I am sorry. I am so-so-”  
Thor’s arms tightened around his brother and they embraced as they had when they were children, when they were men fresh out of the heat of battle, when they had played and mourned and fought together.   
“It is I who am sorry, Loki,” Thor murmured, and his brother’s grip on him loosened. “I have always forgiven you- can you now forgive me?”  
Tears flooded Loki’s emerald eyes. He clenched Thor’s forearm, and Thor did the same; a warrior’s salute. Nodding jerkily, Loki met Thor’s eyes- earnest and blue and sad.   
“Always.”   
“Then come to supper with me- much has happened in your absence,” Thor clapped his brother on the back, but when Loki hesitated his hand softened into a comforting weight on his little brother’s shoulder.   
“We missed you, brother,” Thor murmured. At this Loki nodded to himself, drawing himself up and hastily wiping the tear tracks from his face, smoothing back his wolfish mane of black hair.   
He breathed in the scent of old books, of years spent exploring every inch of every bookshelf, wrinkled pages replaying memories from happier times.   
Then, he followed Thor out of the library.   
*  
Days passed and news of Prince Loki’s return from his strange and nebulous “redemption” spread across the kingdom and the nine realms, igniting rumors and whisper wars about the current state of the youngest prince’s mind. He was mad to attack Midgard- but some claim he was compelled. He still tried to overthrow the king- so why wasn’t he executed for this treason? Had he been accepted back into the line of succession? No one knew, and Loki himself did not care to face the society which had forced him into the role of a dark horse for the majority of his life, so the talk continued and the uncertainty grew.   
Standing in front of his mirror for the first time since returning, Loki wondered at himself- at the man staring back at him from the slick glass. His hair was trimmed and slicked back, tunic freshly washed, black trousers fitted especially for him. Although paleness persisted it was more along his usual skin tone than the ashy pallor of sickness; the bags under his eyes had lessened somewhat, but their shadows remained.   
Loki did not recognize the prince he saw in the mirror, that man free of demons and surrounded by family more than willing to forgive. Blinking, Loki ran a hand through his hair and marveled at how short it was after years of letting it grow freely.   
A flash of blue in the corner of his eyes, for a moment flooding their green, sent his heart running.   
No.   
NO!  
Overwhelmed, a scream tore past Loki’s lips as his hand lashed out, shattering the glass. He had only imagined it- he was himself, that voice was gone from him!  
Blood pooled in his hands and dripped among the broken pieces on the floor, creating fiery rivers between shards which reflected his face, thrown among the pieces. When he dared to look himself in the eye, he saw only green. Only green.   
Breathing deeply through his nose Loki concentrated on melting the shards from his hands. He lacked the will to heal his cuts, but free of the glass embedded in his skin he ran both hands through his hair, nostrils flaring, eyes wide. He was himself.   
But for a moment he had seen the blue, recalled it so vividly it was nearly impossible for him to believe he imagined it. A deep, shuddering sigh emanated from his entire body as he rose, blood on his hands, in his hair, on his tunic, splashed across his floor.   
In that red he saw his lives, and felt Thanos’ powerful grip squeezing his mind further into madness.   
He fled again to the library, and did not emerge for days.   
It wasn’t until staring at unturned pages and running from the servants and his family’s voices behind bookshelves lost their lure that he ventured outside of the inner palace, to the one place, above all, that he could trust to handle his mind with care.   
*  
Moonlight filtered onto the shattered pieces of the telescope, turning the floor into still water disturbed by a stone. All around parts of the massive tool were scattered, twisted, warped beyond comprehension until they were merely broken baubles absorbing the light of the moon and stars, momentarily made beautiful before the sun shed light on the whole of their ruin.   
In the middle of the observatory lay the most broken piece of all, his eyes closed, lean form drenched, dripping in the silver light which would have normally been filtered through the telescope’s cracked lens. One pale hand was closed around a twisted piece of bronze, the other resting on the bar skin exposed by his partially opened tunic.   
“Why?” Loki murmured, so softly that Frigga had to read his lips to understand what he was saying. Slowly, he turned his head and opened his eyes, their emerald locking her in place where she stood in the doorway, one hand laid gently against the doorframe.   
“Hundreds of years, and I cannot get her face out of my head. Why?”  
Sighing, Frigga made her way across the room, stepping over and around his telescope’s corpse, until she reached an empty patch of stone. She sank to her knees and placed one hand over his- the one holding the broken metal- until his fingers fell open.   
“Some souls make more of an impact than others,” she said gently, knowing exactly who he was talking about. She was surprised it had taken him this long to be disturbed by it, after reconciling himself with his lives in a matter of hours. Or perhaps his mind had been shattered ever since he got back, and he hadn’t dared to tell any of them. The thought broke Frigga’s heart.   
“This woman… this mortal whom I cannot even name or see clearly…” he choked on the words, and had to take a moment before continuing, his eyes impossibly wide as he stared at the expansive night sky above him. “She is seared upon my heart as surely as you, mother, and Thor, and even… even father. You know who she is.”  
“Yes, I do,” she said, and at this Loki’s fingers curled up to tighten around his in a death grip. It was merely a shadow of the conflict raging with him, the deadly war between past and present and future, those memories which were Loki and those belonging to the fragments of his soul which still called Midgard their home.   
“Come with me, Loki,” Frigga ordered, standing and pulling him up with her. The metal fell from his fingers and hit the floor with a clang. Loki’s eyes, when they met hers, were dying stars.   
As they made their way out of his observatory and down the tower steps Frigga felt the anger and confusion in her son’s magic, which whipped and snapped around him like a caged bilggsnipe. Ever since he had come back to himself he had been having trouble controlling it, though he would never admit it to anyone; Frigga felt that struggle in her bones as deeply as her own magic, which thrummed steady next to her heart. Perhaps seeing this woman’s face would help him.   
By the torchlight they walked through the quiet palace halls, ignoring the curious eyes of the guards as they passed, until they stood outside the carefully spelled doors of Frigga’s private studio. With a word she peeled away the magic which kept them sealed at night for all but her and her kin. Letting Loki enter first, she hesitated to follow until she was sure he had seen them.   
When she stepped within the dimly lit room she spotted Loki’s lean, catlike form immediately, curled on the divan in front of the most prominent painting with a star struck look on his face, the same look he had worn when he was a child and saw his first snow in Asgard. Wonder, fear, awe, recognition dancing in rapidly lighting eyes.   
One pale, long-fingered hand stretched towards the painting, Loki’s fingertips barely grazing the face of the woman depicted in it, half-rising from her throne. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, an overwhelmed expression spreading on his face.   
“Such a magnificent creature,” he whispered, but then his hand dropped as if struck, and he turned away to stare at the floor, his face a struggle between blank mask and emotional tempest.   
“Thor will kill me for this.”  
“What do you mean, Loki?” Frigga asked, floating forward but not daring to touch him, as the stillness of his form was very different now from the reflective calm of when they were in the observatory.   
“I recognize her now. Jane Foster,” he spat as if her name was a curse, the hand that touched her painted face curling into a fist. “Haunting my every waking moment, ripping my heart and my control apart… The universe mocks me, mother- entwining my punishment with Thor’s mortal, a woman I may never lay a hand on, much less dare to-”  
He stopped himself before he went further, but the tension in him visibly lessened at Frigga’s hand on his shoulder.   
“You are always so perceptive about everyone except yourself,” she mused. “But this time you have missed something even more crucial.”  
“What?” Loki hissed, eyes narrowing. He still didn’t look at the painting, but his entire body angled toward it.   
“Perhaps if you spent more time with your family than with books, you would know that Thor has been quite preoccupied of late, and not with Jane Foster.”   
She could see the gears in his head turning, mind calculating, hypothesizing, but after a beat he shook his head minutely. Dismissing the obvious, she presumed. Loki tended to do that, even when the answer was staring him in the face.   
Another moment and he unwound himself from the divan, kissed her on the cheek, and strode from the room. When his lips had touched her cold blossomed that Frigga had to drive away with a burst of heat. He was losing control, but perhaps… or at least, she hoped, Jane Foster could remedy that.  
*  
It irked Loki when Heimdal did not seem surprised to see him, even though he had taken pains to conceal himself on his way to the Bifrost Observatory- the public flew with rumors that he did not yet care to address, and sighting him outside the palace would only prompt hostility. Still, as he strode in wearing the midnight cloak shimmering with illusion the gatekeeper did not even spare him a glance.   
“Where is Jane?” he barked, cloak furling as he turned to face Heimdal. Blinking slowly, the gatekeeper’s amber eyes narrowed.   
“A mortal place of mourning in Beverly, Yorkshire, in the -“  
Before he had finished Loki had tugged on the strands of the universe, the winding threads between words that had neither beginning nor end and thus were subject to the will of whatever being was powerful enough to manipulate him. One flick of his wrist sent them spiraling into a tunnel formation connecting Asgard and Midgard, sucking Loki in before Heimdal could finish telling him Jane’s location.   
The gatekeeper was of no consequence- as soon as he had begun speaking memories had flashed in Loki’s mind, memories belonging to the infuriatingly sunny mortal which was part of his soul. William remembered the cemetery where his grandparents were buried, where it had snowed for his grandmother’s funeral and rained for his grandfather’s, soaking the priest and drowning out his no doubt beautiful sermon. Five years old and too young to understand, really, what death entailed, all he knew at the time was that his feet were soaking and he wanted to go back inside.   
Burying the memories back down within himself- I am Loki, son of Frigga, brother of Thor, LokiLokiLoki- Loki felt the universe breath around him as he flew through its hidden places, realms and stars flying past in a whirl of color and light sometimes blinding, sometimes darker than the recesses of his own mind. Until at last he found himself on solid- if soggy- ground, breathed the earthy scent of Midgard and sensed the decay and death around him.   
As he vision sharpened he looked across the Midgardian cemetery just outside a relatively small village, gaze finding the small party gathered some yards away. He cloaked himself in an invisibility glamour and made his way closer, coming to stand against a tree a stone’s throw away.   
Something tightened around his heart when he saw the people assembled in front of the coffin, which was sleek with rain and piled with white roses. Even though it was raining not all of the mourners had umbrellas, and as Loki’s grief filtered through him the weight on his chest only grew.   
The “family and friends,” as the priest called them, had assembled there today to mourn the loss of a beloved son, brother, and friend, and it showed on every one of their faces, from those who were openly weeping to the ones who cried with their eyes, trapping screams behind masks of blank grief.   
Dimly Loki recalled their faces as his eyes darted from one to the next, their souls soft points of light in the back of his mind flickering with memories. There in the back stood a troupe of actors from The Globe theatre, in the front, clasping each other, his- no, William’s- parents. All of them paled in comparison to presence which glowed like the North Star, blinding him from the inside of his skull when he finally made it to her face. Of all the memories twisted and tangled in him, there was one constant, one guide, an anchor keeping him within himself.   
Jane. Seeing her so close, through the eyes of hundreds of years of feelings all smashed together in one body, made his heart skip a few beats. It crashed wildly in his chest until he thought he would have to sink to his knees, but he wrapped an arm around the trunk of the tree and sternly stayed standing as William’s parents approached the coffin to put down their roses.   
When they backed away, the husband crumpled in his wife’s arms, it was Jane’s turn.   
From where he stood, rain drenching him because he couldn’t seem to remember how to use magic to protect himself from the elements, he watched as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Her long brown hair was plastered to her head, black dress drenched, hands clenched in front of her around the thorny stem of a white rose.   
Only Loki saw the drops of blood fall like raindrops from her hands to sink into the hungry earth, felt the ripple of their anguish reverberate through the ground. She was so pale she could have belonged in the coffin, her body stiff as rigor mortis.   
Loki’s knuckles were white where they clenched the bark of the tree to keep himself from going to her; he could not interfere. Whatever he felt, he could not reveal himself now, even though she looked so far gone from the passionate woman in William’s memories, a shade of the enthusiastic astrophysicist who was closer than anyone realized to discovering the secret of The Convergence, of inter-realm travel.   
A sob choked in Jane’s throat after a few moments of her inability to move closer to the coffin, the small noise drawing two people from the crowd. One of the women who moved, blonde hair done up in a braided bun, wrapped an arm around Jane’s waist, her white rose clutched in her other hand. The other woman, who looked eerily similar to the blonde one and the weeping parents, put an arm over Jane’s shoulder.   
They formed pillars of strength for Jane to lean on as she advanced to the coffin, looking sicker and sicker the closer they got, yet they also offered a comforting presence to each other, the three united in grief as they clutched to each other like drowning women. Jane’s fingers wrung the petals of her rose as they approached, revealing the blood on its thorns and shallow cuts on her palms. When she laid it on top of the coffin, along with the other two women’s white roses, hers was stained with red.   
Red for love, for blood, for pain, for sacrifice, for birth, and in some cultures, for death.   
Empathy surged through him, both a cruelty and a kindness. He wanted to help these people- these grieving parents who lost a son, sisters who lost a brother, friends who lost a talented co-worker and confidant. But he could not- William was him, but he was not William.   
He could offer none of them the solace they longed for.   
When he turned away his heart ripped in two as Jane’s face fell out of sight, and he called the threads of the universe to him once more.   
*  
His days on Midgard remembered him a vibrant creature, intelligent, vivacious, with a singular quiet strength. He loved that woman, who could hold her own against him, who beheld every new thing the universe had to offer with childlike wonder and threw herself into her work with a fervor that could fuel her for a thousand years.   
This woman was not who he remembered- she was broken.   
And it is my fault.


	10. Chapter 10

_Flying and floating and falling._

_They are surprisingly similar. Especially when there is no clear up or down or dimension to the trap through which one is falling._

_Or fallen. He couldn’t tell whether or not the stars were still moving around him, whether the dancing lights on the edge of his vision were realms racing by or his own eyes playing tricks on him. There was no wind in space, between worlds, for him to judge his rate of descent by._

No, Loki.

_His father’s voice- old, wise, sending him tumbling down into wormholes not of his own making, rang ever-stronger in his mind._

No, Loki.

_Cruelly it would not leave him be; the one memory from which he wanted to escape, which had sent him spiraling over the edge into madness’ maw, was the one that would not leave him be._

No.

 _Let this torment cease! He could endure falling for millennia as long as it was not his father’s voice in his head! In that strange in-between, everywhere and nowhere, stuck between realms and at once pieces of him scattered through all of them, Loki’s hands clutched his head in an attempt to squeeze the voice out. For in hearing that voice he saw the face, the tears in one eyes, that horrible, crushing disappointment which had killed him killed him killed him_ spiritdeadfallinggone dissapointmentunworthy son-

               Loki.

_A scream tore from his lips, which were chafed raw from the muzzle braced over his mouth by the Avengers, and blood pooled on his tongue. Perhaps if he yelled loud enough, in this everwhere place, he could drown out that voice-_

“Loki.”

_That was not Odin’s voice._

_Everything around him seemed to stand still, finally, and Loki knew with certainty that whatever he had been doing before, he had stopped. Was stopped. By that voice._

_“Wake, brother.”_

_Thor? He whispered, searching desperately, trying to remember where he was, how long it had been, why he was here now. He had no memory of Thor ever saying his name with such sadness- and hope._

               Something flared bright in his chest, shining like the sun as it burned away the vapors of memory and torment, cleared his vision and brought him, with a gasp, back into being.

               Blinking dizzily in the sudden rush of sunlight that poured into his eyes, Loki’s hands convulsed in the grass, tearing it by its roots madly as his mind wandered. Something heavy was on his shoulders, but it was warm, too, and it eased his mind rather than excited it.

               “Loki!”

               Beyond the light haloing his face Loki could finally make out Thor’s features, his massive hands resting on Loki’s shoulders and shaking gently. There was a concerned wrinkle in Thor’s brow as he looked down at Loki, whose hands had finally stopped murdering the grass.

               “You can stop shouting, Thor,” Loki murmured, sitting up when Thor moved back. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, and remembered in flashes what had been happening before the dream.

               Loki had been in the observatory fixing the telescope he ripped apart in a mad rage, and Thor had come stomping in declaring that it was time for his brother to see the sunlight again. Somehow the oaf had managed to get Loki onto his old horse, the dapple-grey Vuur, and in no time the brothers had been charging through the plains which lay just beyond the city wall, between it and the mountains, beyond which was the rest of their realm. Tall grass like gold had rippled in their wake as they raced almost to the foot of the massive Beor Mountains, sweat foaming on Vuur’s gey-white coat as he outran Thor’s jet charger, Bruksa.

               After winning the contest of speed and a short battle of strength on their feet, Loki had leaned against the trunk of a slim tree and Thor had decided to attempt a small hunt. Loki must have slid to the ground and in the warm sunlight, body pleasantly fatigued, fallen asleep.

               “You were muttering and looked to be in pain,” Thor said worriedly. Rather than face the question in Thor’s eyes, Loki focused on the bright red apples on the ground beside him; the products of Thor’s “hunt” no doubt. Snatching one with his nimble fingers he stood, took a bite, and sauntered towards the horses.

               “I must congratulate you on your catch, Thor,” Loki jested as he took another bite, the ripe sweetness of the apple more like ash in his dry mouth. “It is delicious.”

               “You have not been well of late,” Thor persisted. “You smile and laugh but things have been different ever since you spoke to mother. I am worried for you.”

               “Don’t be- I’m home, I have seen the error of my ways, pardons have been passed like wine and it seems to be that the entire court is drunk with happiness.”

               “Is it Jane?”

               Loki’s heart skipped a beat at the name he had unsuccessfully been trying to forget since his visit to Midgard days ago, feet turning to lead. He turned the apple over in his hands. And over. And over, until his fingers were sticky with its juices and Loki’s stomach wanted to expel its contents. In truth it was the first thing he had eaten all day.

               As the inside of his cheek bled where he bit it, he struggled to maintain control, feeling his magic snap irritably around him as the cold stirred in his veins.

               _The mere mention of her undoes me,_ he thought bitterly as he reigned himself in, though his fingers twitched to turn the apple into something unsavory, or perhaps even Thor’s horse.

               “I have seen the paintings, brother…” Thor said hesitantly, footfalls crunching grass as he approached Loki. “You should go to her.”

               “She’s _your_ woman, isn’t she?” Loki sneered suddenly, whirling on Thor as the apple fell from his hands and he hid them behind his back to conceal the tremors running through them.

               “On Midgard,” Thor rumbled gently, seeing Loki’s look and standing rooted in his place. “The concept of owning someone is considered offensive.”            

               “Of course, now you have principles.” Eyes wandering over the snow-covered peaks of the mountains, tracing the lines of mist that evaporated before reaching the royal valley, Loki stubbornly ignored his brother. Blood tasted hot and sour in his mouth, salty as he forced himself to stop biting his cheek.

               “I was merely offering advice; you should not treat Jane as an object when you go and visit her.”

               Hot and quick rage flashed through him as his eyes snapped back to Thor’s expression, which was infuriatingly certain.

               “Who says I have ever had plans to visit the prattling mortal?”

               “That I doubt, but perhaps your mind will change once you hear my news,” Thor plowed on, eyes bright. “I intend to ask Sif to marry me.”

               “What?” Loki gasped, staring at his brother in shock. The idea that Thor had, after centuries, finally seen the obvious- Sif’s affections had hardly been a secret, what with her pining like a puppy each time he was away from her- was incomprehensible to him, but Thor’s smile was positively radiant.

               “While you were… _away_ , I came to realize that I do not love Jane, nor do I think I ever did, truly. I have been courting Sif for a month now and intend to ask her to marry me within a fortnight.”

               “You don’t think you are being too hasty? Marriage is akin to a prison cell, but with fewer comforts,” Loki said sardonically, brushing dirt from his nap under the tree off his tunic. The familiar gesture made Thor laugh, to which Loki scowled in response. Of course, the fact that he had somehow managed to miss that Thor was in love with Sif for the weeks that he had been back was irking him as well.

               “She is the one for me, Loki, I am sure. She is beautiful, fierce, strong, fearless, graceful, and diplomatic when the need arises. She will be a worthy queen.” As soon as the word dropped from his mouth Thor’s eyes widened, and he falteringly reached out a hand to Loki. It dropped like a stone in the gap between them, swinging uselessly at Thor’s side.

               “I am sorry,” he murmured. “I did not think-”

               “No,” Loki cut in, eyes flinty as they looked at Thor. “There is no need to apologize- dreams of a throne are behind me. You will be the king Asgard needs, and no doubt Sif will look very fine in a crown.”

               He was ashamed at the bitterness in his voice, turning back to his horse to hide the angry set of his jaw. As he wrapped his hands around the reins and pulled himself up he heard Thor’s grunt as he followed suit.

               “Perhaps a wife of your own will lighten your mood,” Thor joked in a valiant attempt to raise his brother’s spirits.

               “The only woman I could love knows only my better half, which is dead to both of us. Tell me how well you think Lady Jane would like a visit from the man who attempted to level her planet and killed hundreds of its people?” Loki snapped sourly, hands tightening on his reins.

               Thor didn’t answer for the entirety of the ride back to the palace, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. When they rode into the stables a page was waiting for them, and said, eyes darting and fingers twitching, that the Allfather desired to speak with Prince Loki.

               Loki tossed his reins to a nearby stable boy and stalked towards the palace, ignoring Thor’s calls from behind. He would speak to father, and then be done with golden-haired brutes for the day, perhaps the rest of his days.

*

It was the first time they had been alone together since his return- family meals had otherwise been their only interaction, where speaking was civil and kept to a minimum. Now, with no prying eyes and confidentiality assured by the protective spells woven around his chamber, courtesy of Frigga and other sorcerers from the Science Academy of Magic, there was no reason for either of them to hold back.

               Loki paced around the chamber like a caged animal, eyes darting ever so often to where Odin sat in front of his desk, chair angled towards him, one elbow set on the dark wood. Afternoon light slanted through the curtains covering the massive windows, keeping the room in a state of permanent gloom. Shadows arched over the columns jutting from the vaulted ceiling and blending with the walls, making the empty fireplace a cave and the entryways into the other chambers veiled portals.

               When Odin shifted in his seat Loki’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing as the Allfather steepled his hands together on his desk and regarded Loki in a similar fashion. Both men were still, but it was a very different kind of physical quiet.

               Loki broke the silence first.

               “Why have you summoned me?” he rasped, throat dry. Odin’s eye flicked to Loki, and he sighed deeply.

               “Is that I have missed my son too simple a reason?” the Allfather sighed, but the warmth in his eye lay behind the calculated interest.

               “It would be, if it were true,” Loki bit out, knowing that it was wrong and, strangely, not enjoying the hurt that flashed across Odin’s weathered features.

               “You have been forgiven; let us forget, now,” Odin said with impossible gentleness. “You _are_ my son, and I have called you here for two reasons. The first, you will not enjoy, but it is necessary for the safety not only of this family, but all nine realms.”

               Ice gripped Loki’s heart when he realized what Odin was about to ask, and his knees grew to water beneath him. His lungs denied themselves air as he clutched wildly for a pillar to brace himself against. The panic attack grew and grew in his chest, but Odin’s piercing gaze halted it in its tracks, forcing Loki not to succumb.

               He swallowed thickly, still trembling.

               “You wish to know of the Titan,” he murmured against the stone of his support column, eyes glued to Odin.

               “So Thanos _was_ involved…” The mere mention of his name sent stabs of pain through Loki’s hands and back, head aching as memory flashed before his eyes. _Pools of blood swam beneath his feet, mental shackles tightened around his mind until he was sure his very being would burst-_

               “ _Yes,_ ” Loki gritted out, forcing away the memories with all the strength left to him. “He took advantage of the trash the universe dumped at his feet. Used it… most cunningly.”

               “Why did you not tell this to Thor? Or make it known that your actions were not your own on Midgard?” Odin asked, rising hesitantly from his chair at the sight of his son’s rigid body.

               Loki’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile, a relic from times past on the barren rock which was his prison under the Titan’s thumb.

               “The Titan is most careful, especially with a mind, as he put it, as ‘slippery,’ as mine. Chains much more powerful than those you would have put me in were shackled to my mind, binding magic, self, and any sanity which might have deterred me from his plan.” Even as Loki recounted the tale he burned at the thought of being harnessed like an animal, will whipped by the Titan into submission, mind so warped by the tesseract that after a time he could no longer understand why invading Midgard was not the perfect plan, why Thor did not deserve all the torments of losing the realm he loved.

               “Hundreds of years of living different lives on Midgard have degraded the blocks,” he said. “I suspect that is the only reason I am able to even utter his name, let alone speak of his plans.”

               “Then you have endured what none of us here can even imagine,” Odin remarked, crossing the room to lay a hand on Loki’s shoulder. The trickster flinched at the contact, but did not step away. “You are obviously tired; recount the full tale to me another time. For now, you have told me enough for me to know that Asgard and the nine realms must be more vigilant than ever. Whatever Thanos’ plans, you were merely a pawn.”

               Any comments Loki had about being called a pawn would not have helped the situation and, wonderfully, his compulsion to voice one was very little. He was too tired to fight, to bring up petty quarrels, now that Odin knew the truth. That, really, he _had_ been nothing.

               “Which is why all nine realms shall hear of Loki’s innocence. The Norns have punished you enough; your trial has ended, my son.” Odin’s hand tightened on Loki’s shoulder and, hesitantly, Loki reached out a hand to rest it on his father’s own shoulder. Arms entwined, it was physically the closest Loki had been to his father in years. Some burden in his chest lifted, and he nodded in gratitude.

                “What is your second reason for this meeting, _father_?” Loki asked, emerald eyes meeting his father’s stormy blue with new confidence.

               “We must speak of your mother’s paintings-”

               Any warmth Loki had feeling in that moment was sucked away from him, leaving him stony as he let his hand drop from his father’s shoulder.

               “Is this the only topic of conversation you people have for me? Has the entire _kingdom_ seen these very private paintings as well?” Loki exclaimed, each and every oil painting looming stark in his mind after hours of careful inspection, times when he had not left his mother’s studio for days just so that he could memorize every single incarnation of Jane’s face.

               “They are known only to Thor, your mother, and I,” Odin assured him. “And they speak of only the past; you now have a future ahead of you to do with as you will.”

               Loki blinked, trying to slow his breathing and rapid heart rate. His eyes traced the stone floor beneath Odin’s feet blindly.

               “I have failed many times,” Odin said suddenly, a faint tremor in his familiar, rich voice. “And this woman, this Jane Foster your mother has seen entwined throughout your lives, has managed to do right by you where I could not.”

               Loki’s head cocked to the side slowly, ears straining to hear Odin because he must have misheard, the Allfather could not have said-

               “I approve of the match, if that is any consolation. If it is your wish to pursue this mortal, then you will have the support of your family. Something that we- I- have denied you all too often. Forgive me.”

               Loki breathed heavily through his nose, not trusting himself to open his mouth for any reason. He saw her face, drenched with rain and tears. Her blood staining the white rose, the way she trembled in the arms of Beth and Gemma Hart. In his mind’s eye he was holding her instead, shielding her from the rain and warming her, drying the tears from her cheeks so that she could show him the smile that he missed so dearly.

               What a fool he had been.

               _I forgive you._

*

“He is gone, then?” Thor asked as he hung his padded practice gear. As much as he would have loved to fight bare-chested and unencumbered, he had to spare his chest any more bruises from Sif’s generous staff.

               “I felt him leave less than an hour ago,” Frigga responded, hands clasped triumphantly in front of her. “He wasn’t even trying to hide- he used the Bifrost.”

A small smile painted her face as she watched her son pull back his golden mane, brush the dust from his undershirt and cast a surreptitious glance across the practice field to where Sif was polishing her sword.

               “Perhaps he has finally seen sense, then,” Thor chuckled, but Frigga shot him a hard look that made his hands pause.

               “You’re one to judge, Thor. As I recall, you were ready to make a mortal queen of Asgard after three days in her company, and it cost three hundred carefully made practice dummies to convince you of the truth. I worked rather hard, as well.” Frigga’s smile grew at Thor’s sheepish look. However, the chastising still couldn’t keep his eyes from Sif.

               “Yes you did, mother. And gave me quite a fright!”

               “I see you staring- just go speak to her already. Heaven knows that no wisdom forced upon you by me can dispel such terrible impatience,” Frigga said, and Thor immediately turned away, feet moving faster than the rest of his body in their haste to go to his paramour. Manners forced him to halt long enough to spare his mother a backward glance and a word, however.

               “Perhaps Loki will return with a bride of his own?”

               “We shall certainly hope so,” Frigga replied, and then Thor was 110% focused on Sif, who had looked up and tried to smother her delight at his approach.

               Gathering her skirts and turning, Frigga felt a brief urge to leave the silks behind and don her own practice armor, if only to feel the swish of a blade cutting air, and stretch her body to its edge. How long had it been since she dared to scuffle in the dirt? Too long, she thought.

               Perhaps Odin could be persuaded to leave his uncomfortable throne long enough to spar with her. The thought sent a smile flitting to Frigga’s lips; she would need to be on point if she was going to have one of the fiercest shield-maidens in Asgard for a daughter-in-law.

*

Loki pulled at the sides of his coat self-consciously, painfully aware of how light it was compared to his leather and metal armor and even the simple tunics in his drawers back in Asgard. In the mirror the cut of it was simple, and a few whispers of magic put extra stiches here and there to finish the fitting in a more flattering line, but against his white button-up shirt and simple black pants it made him look more like an undertaker than a gentleman. Then again, the Midgardian advertisement he had copied it from _had_ featured a much fairer-haired model than he.

               Growling, he quickly summoned a green scarf for a spot of color- it wasn’t as though the cold held any dangers for him- and threaded his fingers through his hair to get it to stay down. Loki turned this way and that in front of the mirror he had summoned and supposed that the outfit would have to do. Now for the final touch.

               If a mortal had happened to walk by in that moment and peer down into the stairwell, they would have been shocked to see a mirror floating in thin air in front of a man who looked suspiciously like the alien invader who had almost leveled New York almost two years ago. If they had stopped to state, they would have quickly seen that man fade away in a wash of green to be replaced by the photonegative of an extraterrestrial terrorist.

               But that was only “if,” and Loki had made quite sure that he would be undisturbed as he let his shape-changing magic wash over him. It felt like sunlight, and on his tongue tasted like chocolate and mint as it crept beneath his skin, fingered his hair and forced his eyes open so that he could see himself.

               Needless to say, looking into blue eyes topped by orderly blonde curls pulled back in the manner Loki had always preferred, a face glowing with life rather than Loki’s unfortunately snowy complexion- the byproduct of being locked in a crypt for over a month, and only just beginning to warm under Asgard’s sun and starlight- was a little unsettling. Being in this body that could have been Thor’s biological brother, resembled _Bauldr_ more than Loki, send uncomfortable pangs through his chest.

               Swallowing, he vanished the mirror and once again tugged on his coat. When he looked up his blue gaze sharpened on the door labeled 554B, ears straining to hear what was going on behind it, for a whisper of her voice.

               Nothing.

               He placed one foot on the stair above him, and started up.

*

Jane didn’t look like someone who had been through a traumatic loss. Her hair was brushed and pulled back, cloths freshly washed and smart enough to go outside in, hands steady as she studied the sliver of crushed soda can through a microscope. She didn’t _feel_ like someone who had been through a traumatic loss, either, but then she didn’t know that lack of feeling was one of the principle signs of such experiences.

               Lack of feeling.

               More like lack of a _nything._ Two months on her parents’ couch crying her eyes out, having to tell the London police over and over again about the accident, dealing with looks of sympathy and, when Christmas finally came, Darcy telling her that she loved the sweater. Knowing that his gift was gathering dust at the bottom of her suitcase because she couldn’t bring herself to visit his grave again. All of it contributed to the gradual emptying until she wasn’t anything but a shell going through the motions.  

               His parents called a few times, which helped their shared grief, and Gemma visited once, but apparently Beth had dropped off the grid and after a while Jane couldn’t bring herself to care.

               What did what they were having for dinner matter? Why was it important to care about who was cast as the new _Coriolanus_? Who bloody cared about the erratic weather patterns that no one could stop talking about?

               What was the point? Of caring. Of _feeling._

It was spring now, but still chilly in London, and the only reason Jane looked as though she hadn’t lost someone she thought she loved, someone who had made the past two years of her life suddenly worth it if it meant she got to meet him, was because Darcy and Eric hadn’t let her fade away. Eric’s new makeshift “lab” was the only thing keeping her going as they studied the growing anomalies and attempted again and again to predict the exact timing of the Convergence. The latest equation had been almost perfect, but didn’t line up with the steady rate of growing- slowly- anomalies being seen in London and spreading at a snail’s pace to the rest of the world.

               Still, it put it at almost a year away, and that was a year Jane could spend trying to make herself feel, without forcing herself to forget.

               When the knock on the door came, soft and tentative, she ignored it, knowing that it was probably just the intern coming back with Darcy’s stir-fry, and Darcy would get the door to help him with the ridiculous load of food she and Eric had requested.

               It came again. Why wasn’t someone getting it?

               The third time forced her away from the microscope, from exploring the strange new molecules on the aluminum can that had gone through the anomaly at the abandoned warehouse and come back out. She brushed a loos strand of hair back and walked between the maze of tables and scientific equipment and old food containers to the door, almost feeling something like annoyance when the intern knocked _again._

Darcy would have been proud.

               “If Darcy tells you to get that much food next time just take her with you-” Jane’s words stopped in her throat, giving way to something that resembled the screech of a strangled cat as she yanked the door open. Her heart thudded painfully and violently in her chest, feet already propelling her backward as her hands began to tremble.

She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breathe.

“Jane,” the ghost whispered, eyes frighteningly alive and filled with wonder as they beheld her, like stars shining above the pit of depression she had dug for herself since he was buried.

William walked in the room, one hand lifting towards her only to falter halfway up. Jane scrambled back so quickly that she slammed against one of the tables, its sharp edge digging into her wrists, but that wasn’t what send spikes of pain shooting through her entirety.

It was his presence, his eyes, his voice, his perfect mouth forming her name that made her feel, a _gonizing_ emotion pushing its way back in where it wasn’t wanted. Frantically Jane tried to come up with a logical explanation for him to be here, thinking back to Darcy’s obsessive Ghost Busters marathons and all of the stupid haunting shows she’d seen on late nights when Darcy stole the remote.

He was wearing different clothes than when he’d died- similar, but she’d never seen a coat like that, which was far beyond his salary, and the green scarf was completely foreign to her- and he seemed… not sad enough to be a ghost, but not happy enough to be alive.

“You can’t be here,” she gasped, finally finding her voice as tears pricked her eyes, the product of both shock and pain. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the table edge behind her. “Y-you’re d _ead_.”

Just saying it was like a punch to the gut.

“I saw you die!”

William took a step towards her, hands stretched out as if to catch her if she fell- she was sure the lack of blood in her face was alarming. Flinching away from his touch violently, her chest began to heave.

“ _You died for me,_ ” she whispered brokenly. This stopped William as though he had hit a wall, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. It was too human a gesture for the dead.

               “Not quite,” he smiled, the expression looking completely wrong on William’s earnest face.

               Only suddenly, it _wasn’t_ William’s face _._  

               Black hair slicked back to the nape of his neck contrasted starkly with the porcelain pallor of this stranger’s face, and where blue once reigned green dark and hard as envy pierced Jane to her core. This face was haunted by starvation, as though a thin veil had been pulled over once-regal features, but Jane could see the stark beauty of his arching cheekbones, sardonic brows, and regal mouth, all of which screamed _WilliamWilliamWilliam_ to her, in the way the moon recalls fond memories of the sun.

               Only this face, in her eyes, was drenched in blood and battle scars, the rubble of a city strewn with bodies, the collateral damage of his insanity.

               “Darcy! Erik!” Jane yelled, hands rummaging behind her to find something with which to defend herself. Abruptly her fear and anguish turned to anger that roiled through her blood, filling her empty shell for the first time in months. Her hand tightened on the microscope at Loki’s smile slid from his face, so familiar after seeing it replayed on TV for months and months after his invasion of New York.

               “No!” Loki exclaimed, holding his hands up, but Jane remembered vividly the Destroyer slamming Thor into the dirt, the S.H.I.E.L.D. files on Loki’s cunning use of magic. “I have no intention of harming you, Jane Foster.”

               “Why are you here, _Loki_?”

*

It hurt it hurt it _hurt,_ more than falling through Yggasdril and landing on the Chitauri planet, more than the torture which consumed his days once Thanos found use for his new pet, more than Thor’s arms encircling him, _begging_ him to stop the madness and _come home._

Seeing Jane so furious with him, when he had intended neither shock nor harm, was worse than every moment he spent beneath serpent’s venom paying for centuries-old crimes. He had watched her grieve her lost mortal and then it had pained him to see her emptied, so devoid of life, yet now rage was all that coursed through her body at the mere formation of his name on her lips.

               “I’m here for you,” he said honestly, watching her brow furrow in confusion. The microscope didn’t waver in her hands.

               “Tell me _why_!” she demanded, voice raspy from disuse and days of screaming into her pillow at night. Loki had watched that, too, on silent nights when he could not sleep and entrusted the gatekeeper to secrecy.

“Have you come here for revenge on Thor? Because he doesn’t care about me. Go level another city, maybe then he’ll pay attention,” Jane spat, though she obviously didn’t mean the last part. Her boldness in the face of one who, on Midgard, was equated only with blind death, destruction, and ages-old myths of chaos, only made it more unbearable that such wroth was aimed at him.

“There is _nothing_ for you here, murderer.”

He could see their lives swimming in her eyes, hundreds of mornings waking up to the sight of her face in both palace and hovel, her skin the same delicious warmth on his chest, lips like poetry and heart like a brand of fire when she dared to reveal it to him.

“Contrary to what you think,” he murmured, noting how the microscope in her hands flinched towards him when he abruptly let his hands drop. “ _Everything_ is here. One could say my existence depends on it, actually.”

               Jane’s eyes darted towards the door, jaw tightening. Clearly her companions should have been there by now.

               “We are under S.H.I.E.L.D. protection,” Jane threatened.

               “How is your head?” He had seen the way she flinched at the loudness of her own voice, the sweat that dotted her temples and how her furrowed brow was more the product of pain than worry or annoyance.

               “What?” When she blinked in confusion Loki saw it again- the barely perceptible shudder of pain that coursed through her, and his heart tightened.

               “Your head- it hurts, doesn’t it.” Not a question. “It has for some time.”

               “ _Get out,_ ” Jane hissed. “Before S.H.I.E.L.D. arrives. Or better yet, your brother.”

               “But you see, I can’t do that,” he said. “I’ve come too far to leave now; I _care_ too much.”

               Her eyes widened at the blue sparks that danced across his outstretched fingertips, the momentary wonder that flitted across her face enough to warm Loki at his center. He dared to take a step forward, feeling the throb of the headache echoing into Midgard’s past.

               A swooshing sound rushed past him, leaving Loki just enough time to duck before the microscope sailed over his head. He had a moment to appreciate Jane’s excellent reflexes before he leapt to his feet and propelled himself forward, stopping with a hairsbreadth between their chests. Something slammed against the floor as Loki’s fingertips connected to her head, blue washing across his scalp and seeping through her skin.

*

The pounding which had pervaded her every waking moment vanished in the wake of Loki’s hands on her forehead, and from the corners of her eyes she saw the snap and whirl of blue vapor coming from his fingertips.

               _Magic,_ she thought numbly as it sank into her skin and eased the horrible ache that had begun with William’s death and hadn’t given her a moment of peace since. As he lowered his hands he locked her gaze with his, emerald eyes boring into her with an expression startlingly like desperation.

               For a split second she saw William before her, again, though a small voice in the back of her mind told her it was only Loki’s glamour. She had been too shocked by his appearance, too tormented by her headache, to wonder _why_ Loki chose that body or how he even knew. How he looked so much like him.

               A chocked sob escaped her lips when she realized the implications of her questions, of the look he was giving her now. The past few minutes of her screaming seemed painfully foolish; she had missed e _verything._  

               “Was any of it real?” Jane asked, unable to hold her anger in the face of such a look. If he had wanted to hurt her, he would have- besides, he had just healed her. Whatever was happening here, whether or not what he said was true, he didn’t seem to have any intentions of harm.

               “Every moment,” he replied, conviction firm in his velvet voice. Slowly his hands drifted down her face, brushed her jawline and neck, found their way into hers. As their fingers entwined he leaned closer, breath hot against her lips. “I did not see it at the time, but I have always felt this way, from the first of my lives to the last.”

               “How did this happen?” Jane demanded, voice shaking. “How can you be William?”

               “It’s a long story, I’m afraid,” he murmured. There was now less than an inch between their faces, and Jane could feel the pounding of her heart in her chest like a heavy drum. “Do I get a kiss before I have to explain?”

               “It took Thor two days,” she managed, gathering her courage and straightening up against the table, forcing him to move back. Perhaps wrongly so, but she was pleased that he seemed hesitant to move away from her. “You’ll have to wait.”

               “In this instance, I’m afraid I do _not_ wish to mimic my brother.” A roguish smile flitted across his face and Jane had a second to panic before his lips descended on hers, his arms winding around her back, her neck, hands burying themselves in her hair as he pulled her ever closer.

               “Pray forgive me, dear lady,” he whispered against her lips in between their rapid breaths, souls mingling in the paper-thin space between them. “We’ve come too far now.”

               Jane forgot all about the microscope on the floor, waiting for its chance to connect with his skull. She was deaf and blind to the two figures that appeared in the doorway in front of them, to Erik’s gasp and Darcy’s shriek. All that existed in that moment was her and Loki, impossibly entwined as if the very fabric of the universe depended on it.

               And it felt so utterly, wonderfully _right._

_She clasped his hand even as she sat up on the edge of the bed, casting a longing glance at his bare back, rising and falling to his steady snores. Sunlight filtered through the windows and she groaned; another day of court and rules. Overseeing her people was her birthright, her privilege, her delight, but it would have been so much nicer to stay in bed just a little longer with her fragile prince. To see his face light up when he saw her, and playfully put him through the torture of one thousand kisses before she gave him his silver spectacles._

Memories coursed through her that were not hers, could not be hers, yet sat in her heart with all the surety of a queen on her throne. In each one that flitted by, there was William, there was Loki, his face, his eyes, his jawline, his mannerisms, put on display for the whole of earth’s history.

               _Unable to speak his language she could only stand and wonder at him as he prowled around her, regal as a lion with his bronze hair and short beard, strapping shoulders which dwarfed her glass-doll frame. As he pulled her towards him and kissed her, she prayed fervently that he would be kind. His hand cupped her neck, the other her cheek, and his lips, when they met hers, were gentle._

In the back of her mind and as their kiss deepened, Jane wished that she was a historian, so that she could understand all that she was seeing on the red and black screen of her closed eyes.

               _Blonde hair like summer and blue eyes like the sea, blue eyes that he had given their daughter, along with curls that took their oaken hue from her mother’s gently waving locks… Her James, her jolly English boy. She bite down on the strawberry he fed to her from across the picnic blanket, the waving grass providing ample entertainment for their one-year-old daughter in her basket a few feet away. When James looked at her he smiled, but his eyes were impossibly sad. Orders had come that day- orders for war. She had a terrible feeling, there in the fields with the summer sun beating down, that this would be their last picnic._

Everything, _everything_ in her life had been leading up to this point, to this kiss, to these memories converging in her head. It was impossible, but she remembered a hundred lifetimes of him, his presence like the North Star as she fell down the rabbit hole of too many memories for one mind, following and following until her eyes jolted open.

               He was staring at her again, green eyes washed with unabashed adoration, his hand gentle as he wiped away the tear tracks on her cheeks.

               _“Jane,”_ he crooned. No one had ever said her name like that before. “How is your head feeling?”

               _Light,_ was the first word that came to her mind, but quickly the pounding overruled that thought. There wasn’t enough room in one head for the thoughts of hundreds of others- Jane could hear them clamoring, screaming, and her knees buckled under the strain of remembering exactly who “Jane” was amidst the torrent.

               “It hurts,” she rasped, face scrunching up in pain. Loki smiled, almost sadly. His hands tightened minutely around her body.

               “I can fix that.”

*

Loki felt what Jane felt- the weight of their lives, of the history leading them to that point- but he had long since dealt with the screaming. He had reconciled it, yet the kiss brought up all of Jane’s repressed lives as well. Mortal minds were not made for that kind of strain, so when he felt the tremor course through her body his heart leapt with fear.

               With the second kiss he yanked the memories from her, the full force of his magic tearing them from her mind and locking them away, securely, and leaving her only shadows and faint recollections of their shared past. She would know their history, but never have to re-live it. He could spare her that pain, at least.

               For painful milliseconds Jane didn’t respond to him at all, and Loki’s entire existence hung on the knife-edge of her acceptance. When her lips pushed back, hands springing to life as they explored his chest delicately, tracing their way to his neck and jaw, Loki was abruptly slammed back into himself. She had chosen him, a _ccepted_ him.

               And nothing would ever be the same for it.


	11. Chapter 11

After calming Darcy down and keeping Erik from calling S.H.I.E.L.D. on Loki, Jane had had a difficult time explaining exactly why the god of mischief was in their lab, kissing her, but by the time she finished summarizing recent events and the truth of William’s identity both her friends were ready to speak to Loki like civilized people rather than scream and attack.

For his part, Erik had been less than thrilled to have the man who played puppet-master with his brain in their home, but after Loki had apologized profusely and magically healed any scar tissue from the tesseract, Erik had moved on to a level of grudging acceptance. Darcy was less enthusiastic- and rather jealous, actually, that after Thor and William Jane still got, as she put it, “a supermegafoxyawesomehot boyfriend with a tragic backstory to rival them all. Seriously, Jane, you’re like something out of a bad romance novel. Where can I get one?”

Ian’s arrival had thrown things back into a bit of turmoil, but when Darcy ordered him to shut up and be nice to Jane’s new beau he had promptly followed orders and begun serving the take-out Darcy had sent him for.

               In the ratty little make-shift lab, over Thai food, Loki’s hand entwined with hers, Jane had felt so ridiculously happy that she couldn’t believe there was an end in sight. She should have learned her lesson after the first two men who had come and gone, though, should have known that when the Bifrost transported them to Asgard in the middle of the meal, only trouble could ensue.

               Jane had only been half right. Getting to straighten things out with Thor and giving her blessing for him to marry Sif, and meeting the rest of his family, had been fantastic. Watching Darcy geek out over the hierarchy of Asgardian society and how many cute warriors were on the palace guard, as well as Erik’s insistence that he be sent home- Thor’s surprise of dragging them to Asgard was a little much for him after the shock of meeting Loki- put a damper on her mood.

               Then there was the little matter of Loki’s absence, and the fact that as soon as they had arrived in the Bifrost observatory, Thor beaming and waiting for them, congratulating them, he had curtly excused himself and not been seen since. Quite frankly his disappearing act was both heartbreaking and infuriating, but between seeing Asgard and talking to Thor Jane hadn’t had time to search for him or ask after him, afraid of the kind of reaction she would get.

               So she reconciled with Thor, explored the palace, studied their night sky, and waited with a heavy heart for the wedding and when she would have to leave- with or without Loki.

*

Firelight flickered in the corners of her eyes, showing her distorted reflection in the immaculately polished stone columns bordering the balcony. Jane turned away so that the curtain of her hair hid the reflection from sight, framing her gaze to encompass only the sprawling royal city below and the brightly blazing stars above. 

               A summer breeze laughed as it brushed past her and sent ripples through the impossible fabric of the midnight blue gown Frigga had given to her, fingers dancing across her bare shoulders with as much grace as the dancers in the hall behind her. Maybe it should have given her enough confidence to join them in the lively waltz, but as she gazed up at the unfamiliar night sky and beheld the aurora-borealis on the horizon, topping white-capped mountains, something cold settled in her stomach and would not let her move.

               The past few days since she had come here had been magical beyond anything she had ever dreamed of, but over and over she had caught sight of black hair, or a fluttering green tunic, and run around a corner only to find him gone. How was it that two passionate kisses and three days later he was suddenly nothing but a ghost to her?

               Sighing, she leaned against the stone railing and let her eyes drift close, the weight of recent events, including the morning’s ceremony, coming back all at once.

               _Vows said, ceremonial goblet set aside, their hands joined by a blood-red ribbon, Thor and Sif wasted no time leaning in for the kiss which sealed their marriage, officially binding them in sickness and health, war and peace, to death and beyond._

_The assembled Aesir burst into cheers as white flowers started to rain from the sky, decorating Sif’s cascading ebony locks and settling on Thor’s blonde head like a crown, though the golden circlets on both bride and groom were adornment enough for two such radiant people. Clapping and rising with the rest, Jane’s smile wavered when something dark moved in the corner of her eye. Turning her head- fighting to see past broad shoulders, waving hair, and thick formal armor- she caught a glimpse of two pale hands and green as deep and rich as moss in the heart of a wood._

_Heart thudding painfully as her view was cut off, she turned back to the couple on the raised platform in the middle of the field and tried, unsuccessfully, to re-summon her earlier enthusiasm for Thor’s nuptials._

_How could she, though, when all through the ceremony when Loki stood at Thor’s side, he had not spared her even a glance, and now he was slipping off to who knew where?_

_Thor and Sif would be a wonderful king and queen, and were perfectly suited to each other- Jane had seen it quickly enough when they greeted her on the Bifrost days ago- yet even their happiness, all the wondrous sights and sounds of Asgard, the miracle that Frigga had done in making her look beautiful for the wedding, could not tear Jane’s mind away from the dark cloud that was Loki, looming ever lower over her with his indifference._

_She moved numbly with the crowd back to the palace where the wedding feast and later, dance, would occur, eyes searching desperately for any sign of Loki, but wherever he was he kept well hidden. It was going to be a long night._

*

“I am a coward,” Loki croaked, goblet of mead forgotten and stone cold in his hand as he watched Jane drift out of the hall and onto one of the balconies at the top of the palace, its wide-open doors offering a glorious view of the night sky to seep down into the torch-lit festivities.

               “I like not your tone, brother!” Clapping him on the back, Thor took another swig from his own goblet, grinning like a fool in his polished helmet as he surveyed the celebration occurring in the impossibly vast hall. It glimmered with torchlight, braziers in every corner and benches lining walls draped in gold and silver. Every time the music changed tempo a different color of glimmering stardust would appear in the air to shower the dancers, tall, fine Aesir men and women clad in their best tunics and gowns. In typical Thor fashion, it was a motley assortment of finery and blatant lack of manners, as displayed by Volstagg’s heaping plate from the feast and a group of warriors sporting several new bruises from a brawl earlier in the evening when wine had turned one too many heads.

               “Summon your courage, and speak to her!” Abruptly Thor’s tone dropped, joviality fading from his face as he squeezed Loki’s shoulder. “If I can convince the fearsome Sif to be my bride, then Jane Foster is no match for a wordsmith of your caliber.”

               With a powerful shove Thor catapulted Loki forward and quickly turned to join the dance before Loki could say or do anything else. Suddenly he was alone on the sidelines- still cast the occasional wary, assessing look by the assembled Aesir, and not in the mood for dancing, though Fandral could have no doubt spared one of the women reclining with him on one of the far benches.

               Straightening his tunic and whispering a few hurried words to shine his armor adornments, Loki lifted his chin and strode to where Jane was waiting on the balcony, head turned up to watch the stars.

               Loki shivered at the image- every constellation in Asgard, captured by those warm brown depths. How he had missed those eyes… 

*

 Scarlet skirts flaring out like a brand of fire as Fandral spun her through the air, Darcy’s laughter rang pure and bright over the pulsing music. It shivered in her bones, the touch of Fandral’s strong hands around her waist only intensifying the heat that rose in her cheeks each time he looked at her.

               “You are lighter on your feet than any woman I’ve danced with before,” the golden-haired warrior flirted, completely oblivious to the three women on the edge of the dance floor shooting him longing, murderous glances. Perhaps it was childish, but Darcy stuck her tongue out at them when Fandral wasn’t looking.

               “I’ve had a lot of practice,” she grinned, feet picking up the change in tune easily as they swept through the river of bright gowns and glimmering formal armor, practically floating in the midst of the revelry. “But this party is definitely not what I’m used to.”

               “And how do they celebrate on Midgard?” Fandral inquired, fingers tightening around Darcy’s as he spun her away from his question and promptly pulled her back, arms winding around her waist for the second allowed by the song.

               “Well… not as much light, for one,” Darcy breathed. Both she and Fandral ignored the dance’s demand for a change in partners, though only one of them did it purposefully.

               Again the song quickened with Darcy’s pulse, and bright maroon sparks exploded at the top of the hall like indoor fireworks.

               “With faster music, more drums and less strings. Then we sort of… well, it isn’t really dancing.” A mad giggle escaped her at Fandral’s quirked eyebrow- he didn’t miss a beat, this one, and his penetrating gaze told Darcy that he was perfectly aware of it.

               “Tell me more of this ‘not-quite dancing,’ Lady Darcy,” he insisted.

               “I’d rather hear more about Asgard,” she pressed, a wicked smile playing across her face as she dared him to challenge her change in subject. “I expected more than such civilized parties, to be honest.”

               “But celebration is what we do best!” Fandral insisted.

               “Along with eating,” Darcy joked, prompting a bark of laughter from her finely dressed partner. In the torchlight- dimming as the mood in the room changed, mellowed, shadows creeping up the walls along with a tingling sense of intimacy- his hair shone, fastidiously trimmed beard not as repulsive as Darcy normally found facial hair to be.

               “Let us change the subject again, shall we? Merely thinking of such a wedding feast shall make me sick to my stomach, considering how much I ate,” Fandral groaned dramatically. “Lady Jane is a very intelligent woman, I hear- you must be also to have such a traveling partner.”

               “If you can put a political science major in the same category as an astrophysicist.”

               “I don’t know those words, but in Asgard intelligence and wit are equally measured. Could I tempt you with a riddle?” Something dark, incredibly alluring, tugged at Darcy from the depths of his eyes, prompting her to nod.

               “Only if we stop dancing long enough for my head to stop swinging.”

               The couple exited the floor, and Darcy plopped down onto one of the benches lining the walls while Fandral commenced their new game.

“I am free for the taking through all of your life, though given but once at birth. I am less than nothing in weight, but will fell the strongest of you if held,” he recited smoothly, looking down at her expectantly. Darcy messaged her forehead as she thought, remembering all of the riddles Dr. Selvig used to tell to pass the time between Jane’s storm-chasing adventures. Unfortunately, this was not one of them, and Darcy had to think critically for longer than she cared to admit later.

“I get one hint per riddle,” she demanded.

“Very well, fair lady. One hint; you stole this from me the moment you entered Asgard,” Fandral didn’t look at her this time, no coaxing smile or glinting eyes, no tempting fingers running up and down her arms in ways not entirely unsettling.

Mouth falling open in a small “O” of surprise, Darcy leapt to her feet and put her hands on her hips triumphantly.

“Breath!” she declared. “The answer is breath.”

Fandral’s smile was blinding as he turned to her. “Yes, that is the answer.”

“My turn!” Darcy said before he could say anything else, heart racing. She was having an intelligent conversation with a cute warrior, an Asgardian warrior, who told her in a very clever way that he thought she was beautiful. Honestly why had Jane ever had doubts about this place?

“A spirited jig it dances bright, banishing all but darkest night. Give it food and it will live; give it water and it will die,” Darcy recited, and Fandral’s eyes narrowed a heartbeat later.

               “One hint, dearest lady- I can’t for the life of me know what you mean,” he pleaded, though it was obvious he knew the answer. Playing with one of the waves of her incredible scarlet skirt, orange and yellow accents winding up to the polished bronze half-armor decorating her chest, Darcy winked.

               “I’m wearing it.”

               “More accurately, you are it, for never was there a _flame_ bright as Darcy Lewis of Midgard,” Fandral murmured as he stepped closer, hands sliding around her waist. Much to his shock and delight Darcy closed the distance between them even further, yanking him down by his collar- oh the times when being short wasn’t an advantage- and planting a kiss right on his lips.

               When they finally pulled away from each other both were breathless, eyes roving all over each other, a look of pure ecstasy on Fandral’s face.

               “This morning I bemoaned Thor’s loss of bachelorhood, but now I see what a blessed man he is!” Frandral cried, picking up Darcy by the waist and spinning her in a circle. “I believe I have just found a bride to rival Sif herself! Though she’d pound me if she heard that.”

               “Put me down, handsome man,” Darcy commanded, and Fandral lowered her to the floor, fingers lingering on her waist. “I’m not being anyone’s bride.”

               “But, Darcy-”

               “But if you’re ever in Midgard,” Darcy cut in, shy smiling working its way onto her face. Frandral kissed her hand, face a mask of regret. “Don’t look so depressed- sometimes a girl needs to get to know the guy a little before getting hitched.”

               His voice was as firm and rich as ever, as Fandral bowed and kissed her hand.

               “Keep your heart open for me, Lady Darcy,” he murmured against the skin. “And warn the men of your realm that if their desire for you does not match even a tenth of mine, they have no reason to court you.”

               “I’ll keep that in mind,” Darcy said, swallowing the butterflies back into her stomach.

               “Good,” Fandral smiled. “If you will not agree to marry me now, then at least permit me another dance before I am rid of your company tomorrow.”

               She didn’t even have to think about it before taking his hand and dragging him back onto the dance floor.

*

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” A melodious voice behind her asked. Jane whirled around to see Loki stalking out onto the balcony, green eyes boring into her brown ones with more than an echo of sadness in them. “For thou art lovely, and more temperate.”

               Resisting the urge to wrap both arms around herself- that was the start of one of Shakespeare’s sonnets that William used to recite to her when she couldn’t stand the cold- Jane turned away so he wouldn’t see the struggle her heart was putting her through, hands reaching out to clench the stone railing.

               “Jane,” Loki murmured, sounding, at last, like himself instead of a mockery of William. “Jane, please look at me.”

               “Why should I?” she snapped before she could bite back the harsh words. “When ever since we arrived you haven’t looked or sought me out once?”

               His footsteps stopped, the moment caught between the cold and remote silence of the stars, the laughter and music from just inside, and the careful, steady breaths of the two people on the balcony. Jane’s eyes wandered up past the stars, traced the spiraling, glimmering towers of the palace as they rose into the air above her and practically pierced the sky. Perhaps if she focused on the architecture of this world, the plane it resided on and the wonderful objects in it, she could forget the even more magnificent people, the ones who had such a capacity for pain and healing that she didn’t know how human hearts endured it.

                “I was afraid,” Loki admitted slowly, carefully, still rooted in his place behind Jane. “Terrified, actually, that several lifetimes were not enough to erase the images of that city burning from your mind. I couldn’t stand the thought of looking at you after the kiss, and seeing your eyes pass judgment over me.”

               She wanted to laugh at the stupidity of it all, and cry for the ache in his voice. He had gone all the way to Midgard to get her back, to raise her from the well of her grief, and was still afraid of losing her.

               Or maybe, questioning whether he had her at all. It was something even Jane didn’t know the answer to.

               “Asgard is beautiful,” she said, throat tight. “I could spend a lifetime studying it, and never know all there is to learn.”

               “You could have a lifetime.” Loki had stepped up beside her, his hands coming to rest, daringly, next to hers. “The Apples of Idunn are given to any deemed worthy of becoming an Aesir. The wife of a prince would be the first offered one.”

               Gaze never leaving the stars, Jane replied, “I’m not ready for marriage. Not with someone I don’t know I can trust, no matter how much I love him.”

               Beside her Loki sucked in a tense breath, and Jane waited, hands clenched into fists, for his response. She didn’t know what had prompted her to say that, but she realized with relief that it was true. Of course she loved him- she’s spent a hundred lifetimes with him, but what he said earlier was right. She couldn’t look at him without her mind jumping to his actions on Earth, no matter how hard they were to reconcile them with the man standing next to her.

               “There is a story in that distrust,” Loki said, head turning towards her and, reluctantly, she did the same. Their eyes met for the first time since he revealed himself to her, and it was just as intense a gaze now at it was then. “It is long, and painful, and its start is before you ever met Thor. If you stay here, perhaps you will hear it all, but the most important part is what happened after I fell.”

               Jane knew this story- the basics had been told to her upon her arrival, when she expressed concern over Loki’s absence. Frigga had recounted it to her in hushed tones, how Thor was banished and something terrible- she hadn’t said what, telling Jane only that that particular secret was Loki’s to share with whom he chose- drove Loki to madness while he was on the throne. And then, after a battle on the Bifrost Bridge that resulted in its destruction, Loki hung on the end of his father’s staff and let go. He had spiraled into oblivion, and after that point, also, Frigga had said it was no longer her story to tell.

               “It would, however, be easier to show you, if you would let me.” Something dark and twisted lurked in Loki’s gaze, causing Jane’s stomach to turn uncomfortably, but she nodded and turned to face him head-on. When his hands reached up, fingers splaying across the sides of her face, a small shiver ran through her at the icy touch, but a moment later all thoughts of cold were erased, and Loki’s “story” tore into her with the might and fury of a hurricane.

               _fallingfallingtornhurtstarsspiralsmotherfatherbrotherThor_

_whathaveIdonewhereamIwhywhywhywhywhy_

_-black rock rose up around him in spires, a bitter mockery of the golden architecture of his home, and from holes in the ground and nearby caves came the chittering, hissing masses. The Chitauri, pale eyes glowing, seven-fingered hands poking and prodding, drawing blood, delighting in their new plaything-_

_-skin the color of dried blood, eyes that were twin stars exploding ever inwards, hands which burned him as they dragged him from the dirt and tore the manacles away with little regard to how much flesh they took with them-_

_-when the scepter sat in his hand he felt peace for the first time in an eternity, power thrumming through him, sustaining him after the torture he had gone through in the dark, stripped of his magic. He could go, and conquer, and prove his worth to the nine realms-_

_-threats from a hooded figure echoed in his ears past layers of madness, warned him, cajoled him, threatened him. There would be no moon where he would not find him-_

               Jane broke from Loki’s hold with a cry, hands scrabbling to feel her face, certain that somewhere she would find that clawed hand that burned her skin and threatened, promised such blood and pain-

               But there was only Loki, his hands stopping hers from tearing apart the careful braid and crystal clips Frigga had used in her hair, his breath warm on her face. Her eyes, when she looked up at him, were glazed with tears of shock and pain.

               “It wasn’t you,” she whispered, voice trembling despite her best efforts to slow her heart and desperate breathing. “None of it, none of it was really you.”

               “Jane, I may have been compelled by the Titan, but I never fought his power as much as I should have. I was weak, because I allowed myself to believe my own lies, and that led to thousands of deaths. I wish I could erase that time, so that you would never look at me like that again, but I can’t. Now, at least you understand,” Loki said. “I’m sorry- I underestimated how much it would affect you.”

               “Never apologize for telling me the truth,” Jane said, winding her fingers into his and smiling as much as she could after seeing glimpses of his psychological imprisonment and torture.

               “Another truth, then; I love you.” At the words Jane’s heart pounded, butterflies erupting in her stomach, but before any of it could overwhelm her a wave of calm washed through her at the rightness of the situation, the beauty of absolute truth between them.

               “I love you, Jane Foster, and no realm has ever been more beautiful than Asgard is now, for your presence in it.”

               “I have a life on Earth, though,” Jane whispered, looking at their clasped hands and sighing. “I can’t just leave my parents, or Erik, or Darcy.”

               “Even if your companion will undoubtedly be the center of the next wedding celebrated here?” Loki smirked, drawing Jane’s gaze back inside the ballroom where Darcy, resplendent in a scarlet gown fit for a warrior princess, was being spun in the arms of Thor’s dashing warrior-in-arms, Fandral.

               A small laugh bubbled up through her, but it didn’t last long enough.

               “Earth is my home, as much as Asgard is yours,” she pressed, lips pursed. “But, if you would have me… I would love to come back.”

               “I will make each visit a celebration fit for a queen,” Loki promised. “If I may start now, to make up for my horrible behavior earlier?”

               Without waiting for her reply, Loki murmured a few words under their breath and suddenly there was no ground beneath Jane’s feet. Starting, she looked down and realized that she and Loki were floating- floating!- up away from the balcony and towards the stars. Only Loki’s careful hold on her waist kept her from jerking away reflexively, mind and body at war over the clear absence of anything beneath her feet, when she felt as steady as if she was standing on the balcony still.

               As they went further up the stars grew bigger and bigger, until the palace sat below them and everywhere Jane looked she saw the sky, surrounding and enveloping them like a blanket. When Jane felt Loki shift a bolt of fear cut through her, as she imagined herself falling from his grip. A moment later her waist was carefully secured by one of his arms and his other hand was dangling something in the air between them. Something small and shimmering on a silver chain that took Jane’s breath away.

               It was the summer triangle William had given to her, only this one looked to be made of white-gold, and the three gemstones shone like actual stars, impossibly bright and beautiful when Jane ran her fingers over them. Tears threatened to overwhelm her, throat constricting painfully as she watched starlight dance across the necklace.

               “It is not the original,” Loki murmured as he pressed it into her hands. “But I re-made it with precious metals that will never dull or break, and the gems are white-point stars, fragments of the heavens that fell to Asgard over ten thousand years ago. If one of us is ever in danger they will turn black, and only when the danger is passed or we are together again will they glow white.”

               Haltingly Jane fastened it around her throat, its cool weight settling between her collarbones. When she looked up at Loki his eyes were shining brighter than the stars above him, filled- impossibly- with _hope_.

               Hope for them. Warmth washed through Jane and she stood on tiptoe, supported by the air, to press her lips to Loki’s.

               He pressed her to him, one hand reaching to cup her chin as the other tightened around her waist, and vaguely Jane realized they were floating again, and turning, small glimmers of light spiraling out around them like fairy lights or fallen stars. As they spun higher and higher, Loki’s magic crackling around him to create their own entourage of stars, Jane’s necklace shimmering at her throat, it was as if the night itself was pleased with them, for everything seemed brighter among the smiling stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! I'm reminded of how little I like this ending, but I don't really have time to change it now... There were sequels planned too, but time will tell if I actually write more in this universe or not. Leave me your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Let me know!


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